


Timeless

by WinterTheWriter



Series: One Brick At A Time [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Doctor Who (2005), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Breakups, Crossover, Friends to Lovers, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, I told y'all, Loki being awful, Lovers to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Smut, Sort Of, Spin-Off, Spin-off of my own damn universe, The Master also being awful, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-05-23 12:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14934642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterTheWriter/pseuds/WinterTheWriter
Summary: The first installment of the spin-off series based off my crossover series, Building Happily Ever After. THIS WILL NOT MAKE SENSE WITHOUT READING IT. Spin-off starts after update 25 (Thor Comes To Visit).What happens when, against all odds, Bucky shows up on the Avengers' doorstep damaged and hopeful over a year since Steve thought he found his body on that mountain? How far does Koschei's understanding and patience extend, especially when Loki's hellbent on making everything worse, even just as a prisoner?Just how modern are two queer men from the 40's open to being?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> You wanted it, you got it. I am back on my bullshit with this pairing, now with the promised and hinted at polyamory spin-off where Bucky lives and makes his way home. This series is going to be a 10-part project, including this story, which itself has 10 chapters. Updates will start tonight, continue on Monday, and then we'll be back to my typical once a week update schedule. THIS STORY IS ALREADY WRITTEN AND EDITED, so it will NOT be abandoned. It spins off after Thor's visit, aka update 25, although this prologue takes place right after Lost And Found.
> 
> Also, fair warning: this story (not the entire series, mind) is FAR darker than Matter Of Time. I will provide pre-chapter warnings as I've always done, and I promise the angst balances out, but there are much darker themes at play here. That being said...
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~
> 
> Warning for the prologue: talk of suicide, body horror, depression, being generally self-loathing.

“I’m sorry. Steve, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, but he’s — he’s gone.”

“You can’t tell that from here, Sam, y-you—,”

“I can. I promise you I can.”

“…L-let me see, then, let me— you could be wrong, just let me—,”

“/Steve/, I am your best friend and I love you and I am not going to let you do that to yourself.” He tightens his grip on Steve’s cheeks, pressing their foreheads together. “You know me. And you know if — if there were /any/ chance of me being wrong, I’d’ve dragged you to him myself. But man, don’t do this. I need you to just — just /trust/ me when I say there isn’t. There isn’t, and he’s gone, and you do not need to see just how /gone/ he is. Okay?”

Steve stares at him, sobbing and ripped open from the inside and trembling, and all he can say is, “He must’ve been so cold.”

~

Neither of them notice the pair of eyes watching them through the thickness of the forest, just as neither of them notice how “Bucky’s” corpse had the armband of HYDRA on its arm, and the uniform of a “handler.”

Even with the best of intentions, it is never wise to jump to conclusions.

~

What now? 

Bucky stares at the retreating figures and sinks back onto the earth, his right arm wrapped protectively around himself. He knows what he SHOULD do. He knows how fucked he is, knows that the Winter Soldier still mechanically recites Russian in his head, and he knows that, if he were a selfless, kind man, he’d let Steve mourn him instead of burdening him with all this…luggage. And although he ISN’T selfless or kind, he figures he might as well try to be. For Steve.

His Steve. 

And so he does. For several months, in fact, although how many he can’t know for certain. But Bucky pulls himself up by his metaphoric bootstraps and trundles away from his scene, a gun snug against his hip and his handler’s wallet in his pocket. Armed with one arm. The thought makes him smirk, which is about as close to a smile or laugh as he can get these days. He makes his way down the mountain over the course of weeks, allowing himself to stop way too often to rest, or hunt, or just admire the scenery and pretend he isn’t a zombie. The cold air is biting and stinging against the now-exposed stump of his left arm, the kind of sting that radiates into his shoulder and down his spine. He gets used to it. All the little aches and pains in his pathetic excuse of a body he gets used to. 

Some of those rests are in the vain hope that if he stops walking, stops /trying/, his heart will too. 

It never does. 

When he gets to the base of the mountain, a journey that should’ve only taken hours, he limps off towards civilization, ignoring the looks he gets from skiers and resort folk along the way. He finds himself a motel nearby, and the money in his stolen wallet is enough to get him three nights. His gun gets him as long as he damn well pleases. He didn’t used to be this violent, this aggressive, but he doesn’t really have a choice now. 

So, room to himself at long last, Bucky double-checks the exits, takes a shower, triple-checks the exits, crawls under the covers, and rests. 

It’s already been two months since he was found dead at the scene. 

Oh, how he wishes it were true.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky comes home. 
> 
> Koschei watches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are no warnings for this chapter, aside from general angst and jealousy. Let me be clear: I am not gonna do the whole angry/jealous rivalry shit. This is a polyamory fic, and I am a polyamorous person, and I am going to do this RIGHT.
> 
> Enjoy~.

“So let me get this straight—,” Tony starts, but Koschei quickly shuts him up with a swift smack to his shoulder. “Ow!” he whines, rubbing the spot tenderly and pouting.

“Shut it, you. That man’s been through enough.” 

Steve gives Koschei a grateful, soft smile as he and Sam help Bucky inside. Bucky, who is supposed to be dead, who they buried and had a funeral for, whose /arm/ Steve has kept in a vault all this time. Bucky, who, quite frankly, looks like shit. 

Poor man. 

His cheeks are sallow and greyed, lips split and chapped, with dark purple circles under his eyes. Even through the layers he’s wearing, he shivers with every step, and Koschei imagines he’s terribly thin especially for a super-soldier. He’d shown up at their doorstep late into the evening, when Bruce had gone to bed and Clint and Natasha were finishing up their late-night sparring downstairs and Thor had blasted off back to Asgard, and he hadn’t spoken, just looked up at the shock-stilled form of Steve with this broken, desperate look, and he’d been taken in without another word. 

Something selfish tugs at Koschei’s hearts and he ignores it easily, but Sam keeps glancing at him every couple of feet as him and Steve edge their way towards the medical room. Not a bad look, per se, but there’s something almost pitying about it, like he knows something Koschei doesn’t, and, well, that doesn’t help matters much. Initially, Koschei had stood up to help the three of them, but it wasn’t necessary, so he sat back down on the couch by Tony and watched. 

“You’re okay, Buck,” Steve murmurs to him, barely audible. Bucky’s head sways towards him as he limps along, slow and heavy with shoes like cement. “You’re going to be okay. I’ve got you.” 

At that, even Tony looks at Koschei, looks like he’s about to say something, before shutting his mouth and averting his eyes. That’s never a good sign.   
Him and Steve have been together for a couple years now, though. And after all they’ve been through, all that’s happened, Koschei trusts him with every fiber of his being. He knows a part of Steve will always love Bucky. He knows, and he doesn’t mind it, because a part of himself will always love the Doctor, and that’s just how it is sometimes. What kind of man would he be if he turned this….plot twist, for lack of a better word, into an ordeal about his and Steve’s relationship?

A pretty selfish one, he thinks. 

He tells this to Tony unprompted, once Steve, Bucky, and Sam are out of ear-shot. Tony claps his hand on Koschei’s shoulder and smiles crookedly.   
“You’d also be a pretty normal one, I think. Nothin’s wrong with jealousy. What matters is how you act on it.”

“When the hell did you get wise?” Koschei teasingly responds, nudging him. Tony laughs and nudges right back.

“Since always, E.T. I’m the wisest motherfucker out there. And all I’m saying is that, uh, you’re not imagining the tone of Steve’s voice when he said that, and you’re not a bad person for feeling some type of way about it. I know I would.” 

Koschei’s friendly smile sours just a little as that selfish tug comes back, a bit stronger, and he looks down. “Thank you, Tony,” he murmurs. There’s a beat of silence as both of them look towards the direction of the medical room. Koschei can just barely make out the sound of equipment being used. “I hope he’s alright.”

“I’m sure he will be. Think he’s been shot up with pretty much the same stuff Steve was, so malnourishment isn’t as much of an issue.” 

“…What do you think will happen next?” 

“Honestly?”

“Mm.”

Tony puffs out a long blow of air and stands from the couch, stretching his arms high above his head before fixing Koschei with that same crooked smile from before, his eyes just a little sadder. “I…wouldn’t think about it quite yet.”

Koschei looks down for a moment and nods, teeth worrying his lower lip before he sighs and stands with him, neck rolling on his shoulders to ease the tension. “Well then. Drink? Water, of course.” Tony is six months’ sober. He’s doing better. 

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

~

Koschei goes to bed and wakes up alone, but this is fine, because he expected it. Of course Steve would spend the night in the medical room. There was a lot to be done, and Bucky would need the support of a familiar face. Especially Steve’s. Steve doesn’t text or call, but that’s also fine, for the same reasons. 

Everything is fine. 

Walking into the kitchen, he makes himself coffee and a bowl of cereal and has his breakfast in silence. No one else is there. Everyone is either helping with Bucky or off doing their own thing. It’s peaceful. 

Koschei wonders if he should go see Bucky. Make sure he’s alright. Koschei’s no doctor but he knows enough, might be able to help. Would Steve see him as intruding? Would they need him? Bruce /does/ have a medical doctorate, after all, but still; Koschei feels weird and awkward about just pretending nothing is happening. At the very least, he should give his boyfriend some support. He can’t imagine this is easy for him. 

Resolved, he cleans up his breakfast and goes back to their room, changing out of pajamas and into actual clothing as a form of respect, and heads towards the medical room. He ignores the heaviness in his chest, the niggling feeling in the back of his mind that he knows what’s going to happen. He ignores the fact that Steve only fell for Koschei because Bucky was gone, and now Bucky’s back. He ignores the way Steve had looked when he saw him alive for the first time, that glow and awe and relief, rapturous in its strength, and how he’d reached for Bucky like a benediction with no delay, no hesitation. He ignores how Steve hasn’t looked at him since.

He ignores this because it is selfish, and paranoid, and he is too old for that. 

And then he sees Steve helping Bucky back into bed in the medical room, sees the way they grip each other’s hands, smile at each other like something is finally back in place, and suddenly Koschei can’t ignore anything anymore. 

He doesn’t go inside. He doesn’t linger. If and when Steve wants him, wants to introduce them, he will do so on his terms. Koschei doesn’t need to push himself into that moment. 

Hearts turned to glass within him, Koschei walks back towards their room, hands fists at his sides, and the only thing he can think about is on repeat in his mind.

Steve’s never looked at him like that before.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Koschei have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday! Here's some angst with your angst! 
> 
> I've also amended my update schedule just slightly - for now, and for this story in particular, I'll be posting TWO updates per Monday instead of one. Because otherwise this series would never finish posting and let's be real, we all want to get to the juicy bits. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The day passes without event. Sometime mid-afternoon Sam wanders into the living room, looking exhausted and stressed. Koschei stands from the couch, looking behind him for Steve, but Sam just shakes his head with the same pitying look as last night and he sits back down, picking up his cup of tea and taking a sip, letting it comfort him. “Koschei,” Sam starts, sitting heavily on the coffee table in front of him. 

Koschei puts a hand up to stop him, not unkindly. “I know,” he says thickly, forcing himself to look Sam in the eye. “I know.” 

There’s an awkward, pregnant pause.

“He’s…not cruel,” Sam says instead, and it takes Koschei a moment to figure out he’s talking about Steve. “He’s not going to just ignore you.”

“I know. I, er, expect a talk tonight.” 

Sam is Steve’s best friend. He’s privy to the private thoughts couples don’t share to each other. He’d know. And so it twists extra painfully in Koschei’s gut when Sam just nods and mutters “yeah” under his breath. 

Silence.

Clearing his throat, Sam stands up and pats Koschei’s shoulder. “I’m, uh, going to head in early for the night. Been up for a while.”

“Yeah. Yes. Of course. Thank you, Sam. Rest well.”

Sam smiles slightly in response and heads off to his room, the door shutting softly behind him with a click, and then Koschei’s alone again. Muted and distant, he hears Steve’s laugh. 

He sips his tea. 

~

An hour or so later, Koschei goes back to their room, and for a few moments he just stands in the middle and looks around. This was originally Steve’s space, but now their relationship seems to pour from the seams of it. Pictures of the two of them in various table-top frames, their clothes strewn on the floor with no segregation, covers still rumpled and sheets creased on Steve’s side of the bed, even with his absence — they’re everywhere. The two of them are everywhere. 

Koschei packs. 

He’s not going to just disappear — that would be an unimaginable insult to the time they’ve had together — but he’s not going to pretend the inevitable isn’t inevitable. He loves Steve, more than should be possible to love another person, and if Steve were to come to him and ask for them both, he’d agree without hesitation. But that’s not going to happen. For all his modern views, Steve is still from a very different time, as is Bucky. 

It was always going to be a choice.

Still, again out of respect, once Koschei’s bags are packed he tucks them under the bed and in the closet. He makes their bed for something to do, straightens picture frames, keeps himself busy. Near midnight, when he is sitting on Steve’s side of the bed and feeling sorry for himself, Steve himself finally opens the door. Koschei stands and walks over to him, but keeps his distance. Steve shuts the door behind him, smiles sadly at Koschei. He looks younger. 

Silence.

“I’m sorry I, uh, sorta went MIA for a bit,” he says, almost too easily. Koschei smiles at him a little and holds his hands behind his back.

“Quite alright. You were a bit busy.”

“Yeah.”

“Mm.”

Silence. Koschei stares at the ground, runs his tongue along his own teeth behind closed lips. 

“Koschei…,” Steve starts, and Koschei doesn’t have it in him to interrupt. “Did you…pack?” Ah. So he had noticed.

“A little,” Koschei admits lightly, not looking up. Steve steps closer to him and pulls his arms back to the front, holds his hands in Steve’s. Koschei sniffles. Just slightly. 

“Baby, I…there was no way to foresee this.”

“I know.”

“I love you so much.”

“I know.”

“I never meant to…I-I meant all of it, every word I’ve ever said to you, I /still/ mean it—,”

“I know.”

Steve sighs, his thumbs rubbing circles on the backs of Koschei’s hands. Koschei looks up and Steve looks near tears himself.   
“Why did you expect this?” Steve asks, and Koschei knows he isn’t talking about Bucky’s return alone. 

Koschei laughs shortly, mirthlessly, and responds, “Because I know you.” 

“That’s not fair—,”

“Let me finish.” He pauses for a moment, until Steve nods. “Thank you. Steve…I know you love me. I know you’ve never lied to me. I trust you implicitly. But…I also know how much you love Bucky, how much you’ve always loved him, and that I never would’ve been an option for you if he was here from the start. No, don’t look at me like that, it’s true and you know it. And both of us know delaying the inevitable is never a good idea, so I packed. The fact of the matter is, Steve, that as much as you love me, you always have, and always will, love Bucky more.” 

“/Koschei,/ stop. You can’t just— I spent /so long/ convincing you I even had feelings for you, and now…now you just want to—,”

“I just want to thank you for it, and to let you know that all I want is for you to be happy—,”

“You make me happy. You do. /Baby/.” Steve sounds like he’s begging and it’s knives to Koschei’s hearts. Steve pulls Koschei closer, drops his hands in favor of cupping his cheeks and pressing their foreheads together. He lowers his voice to a whisper, eyes wide and pleading. “You have no idea how happy you make me.” 

“Steve—,” Koschei starts, voice cracking as his hands overlap Steve’s on his cheeks. “Darling, I /know/, I know, I do. But he makes you happier. You know that. Please don’t — don’t make this harder, we /both know/ you didn’t come here to tell me everything’s alright.”

Steve averts his eyes and chokes on a sob, shaking his head and pulling Koschei into a proper hug. Koschei feels tears wet his scalp and he hugs back tighter, face buried into Steve’s chest. He doesn’t know who he’s comforting anymore. “I’m sorry,” Steve grits out, voice thick with tears, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“I know—,”

“I love you, Koschei. Please, /please/ know how much I love you, I-I…I need to make sure you /know/—,”

“I /do/, darling, I swear I do.” Koschei pulls back from the hug and cups Steve’s cheeks, trying for a smile that comes out too watery and fake to be convincing. “And I love you. More than anything in this universe. And that’s why I’m —,” his smile falters, giving up the ghost, “—why I’m letting you go. But you will never lose me, Steve. /Never/. I will always be your friend.”

“/Best/ friend,” Steve amends, leaning into Koschei’s hands. 

“Best friend. My best friend. My Steve.” He strokes his thumbs under Steve’s eyes, wiping away the moisture there. 

“I’m so sorry, Koschei,” Steve sobs, his body seeming to curl over Koschei’s. “I-I never, I…—,”

“Darling, I /know/. Please. I’m not angry, or betrayed, or — or blaming you. I swear it. We’re okay.” 

“Are /you/?”

“I…will be. This isn’t exactly easy for me, but…you didn’t lie, or cheat, or fake anything, a-and this isn’t exactly a fight, so that…helps.”  
Inhaling a shuddering breath, Steve pulls back from the hug and strokes Koschei’s cheek with one hand, keeping the other arm wound around his waist. “Stay with me tonight. One more time. If we’re ending this, let’s…do it right. Do it together.” 

With a sniffle, Koschei nods, smiling just slightly up at him and turning his head to kiss Steve’s palm. “I can do that.” 

~

The love they make is molasses and syrup, slow and sticky and sweet. Steve sits with his back to the headboard, arms wound tight around Koschei’s waist as he presses hot, wet kisses down his neck, grunting with each deep, slow roll of Koschei’s hips. Koschei’s back is arched, his hands stroking over Steve's arms, his shoulders, his face, grinding himself down onto Steve’s cock until no space is left between them, as it should be. Their moans intermingle, hot breaths and high sighs covering up the sounds of the gentle sobs neither of them can help. Sweat hides their tears, makes it easier. Koschei’s rhythm speeds up towards the end, a seemingly-endless chant of Steve’s name tumbling from his lips as he tips his head forward, grips Steve’s cheeks, looks into his eyes. Steve looks right back, entranced and heartbroken and awe-struck as he holds him as close as he can, moaning Koschei’s name like a prayer.

They come together for the last time. 

To Koschei, this is bittersweet in the best and worst of ways. He’s happy — happy that they didn’t yell, or fight, or scream, and their last memory together is love-filled and pleasurable. He can barely articulate how much it hurts, to know for a fact that his Steve loves another more than him, but it feels better than the pain of betrayal and for that, he’ll be okay. He moves out late that night once Steve is asleep, into his old room, and tries to ignore the stale and cold air of it that seems to suffocate him. 

For Steve, he just wishes that final act of love could last forever. He wishes he never had to hurt Koschei, or leave him, but he, too, is glad it happened amicably. Most of all, he wishes he didn’t have to pretend Koschei was right. 

But that’s a problem for another day.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky reunite. Properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst + smut = no comprehensible combination of letters. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The window of the door of the medical room has blinds, and so do the window panels on either side of the door itself. Steve closes them when he sneaks in, early in the morning, and locks the door behind himself. Bucky watches him carefully, already awake. Already waiting. 

He’s only still in this room as a formality, to make sure he stays on the right path to recovery, and so physically, well — he’s fine. Good enough. Steve doesn’t speak as he crawls under the thin covers, and Bucky doesn’t speak as he draws him close like he used to, before the serum, before things got…complicated. Silence prevails. Bucky strokes up and down Steve’s back through the light material of his sleep shirt, and Steve buries his face into Bucky’s neck and breathes, just breathes. 

God, it’s been so long. 

Bucky knows Steve found someone else. He knows they were happy, and in love. But he also knows his Stevie isn’t a cheater, and wouldn’t be here if that were still an issue. And for his part, Steve knows Bucky knows that. They know each other so well, even after all this time. And so, the silent question hangs in the air, keeping their touches from advancing, their lips from kissing. 

What now?

As if on cue, Bucky tilts Steve’s chin up as soon as the thought passes Steve’s mind, and then they’re kissing, and it’s desperate and wet and tastes so much like the past, like /home/, and Steve hopes to every god he doesn’t believe in that it stops feeling like a betrayal. Steve runs his hand down Bucky’s torso, his stomach, and cups the hot weight of Bucky’s cock through the flimsy material of his gown. 

Koschei must be so lonely right now. 

Growling into the kiss, Bucky bites Steve’s lower lip and tugs him closer, grinding up into his hand. Steve moans in response and presses closer, slipping his hand under the flaps of the gown to stroke him properly, thumbing over the head the way Bucky’s always loved. 

Maybe Koschei’s still asleep, or maybe he didn’t sleep at all. He always has insomnia on his bad days. 

Bucky unwraps his arm from Steve’s torso in favor of shoving his hand into his pajama pants, returning the favor with that rough, calloused grip Steve’s always held in the back of his mind. 

Is Koschei going to be at the meeting today? Should he remind him? Is it weird to remind him?

They pant, hot and humid into each other’s open mouths, not so much kissing as letting their lips skate together in passing. Their grips speed up in tandem. God, Steve’s missed this. 

Koschei used to kiss him so sweetly when he touched him like this. He used to make Steve’s chest ache with all the love and adoration he has for that man, even during their less tender encounters. 

Steve whines in the back of his throat and Bucky shoves closer at the sound of it, biting kisses down his neck, awkward angle be damned. Heat tightens the base of his spine, draws his balls up close. Bucky is perfect, every part of him is perfect, from the grease in his hair to the pre-cum that slips through Steve’s fingers to the way they tangle together. 

So is Koschei. 

Bucky comes with a bitten off moan of Steve’s name, and Steve comes right along with him, their hips bucking and grinding into each other’s hands and he swears in that moment, that perfect moment, that nothing has changed at all. 

God, he misses Koschei.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Koschei have a much needed chat. It's only a little super awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday! I post these on Mondays so I can pretend I'm not dying inside! Hopefully reading them gives you all the same results. Up ahead this chapter: more angst, a smattering of fluff, a pinch of bonding, and a dash of action. Villain-y action, not sexy action. 
> 
> Enjoy, and please drop a comment if you're enjoying what you see! I love reading feedback, and there seem to be far more of you this time around. (I know you're all here for the Stucky. I know what I'm doing.)

Koschei watches Bucky’s slow integration into their lives from what feels like the outside, even though he knows it’s ridiculous. Bucky is immediately offered a place on the team, and a spot in Steve’s room. It definitely doesn’t hurt that that spot used to be his, nor does it hurt that Steve has yet to actually introduce the two of them. Koschei knows he could (and should) introduce himself, but he feels as though that would, somehow, be intrusive. 

They both know where he is. 

Steve doesn’t forget about him. They crack jokes that are progressively getting less awkward to make, and smile at each other, and sometimes Steve nudges him during a briefing just as a little, playful reminder that he’s there, and they’re okay. 

It’s okay.

Much to his surprise, Tony makes Bucky a new arm, one laden with both a light alloy and vibranium, the design sleek and deadly and actually matching the musculature of his other arm. It’s not that Koschei didn’t expect the two to like each other, he just…didn’t expect the two to like each other. Bucky himself is stoic and slow to smile, much like Koschei, but he’s easier to talk to, easier to like. He gets along with everyone, listens to their stories even when he shares none of his own, and the way Steve lights up whenever he walks into the room is worth all the aches and pains in Koschei’s chest. 

He’s too old to be jealous anyways. 

And yet, despite all of this, he and Bucky have yet to say two words to each other. Through some silent, mutual agreement, they steer clear of each other’s paths, aside from strained, tense smiles when they do cross, and no one — Steve including — has tried to change that. Koschei’s thought about asking Steve about it but he’s not sure what good it would do. They know where he is. Both of them. If they wanted Koschei and Bucky to speak, they would’ve done by now, right? It /has/ been six weeks, after all. 

Speak of the devil.

Koschei looks up from his book at the slow, hesitant knock on his door and frowns. Since when has Steve ever bothered knocking? Maybe he’s just trying to respect Koschei’s privacy, which would be redundant but sweet. Sliding from his bed, Koschei trots over to the door and swings it open. “Steve, you /said/ I could keep your blue sweater, and you /know/ how cold—oh.”

Bucky smiles, ever so slightly, back at him. “He’s already forgotten about the sweater.”

“Oh…kay.”

Silence. Awkward, awkward silence. Koschei shifts his weight on his feet. Bucky clears his throat and sucks his teeth. “May I come in?” he asks, nodding to the bedroom Koschei is still blocking.

Koschei doesn’t answer for a moment, just staring up at Bucky in shock. Then he shakes himself from his reverie and wordlessly steps aside, motioning Bucky in and closing the door behind him. Bucky hovers awkwardly in the middle of his room and Koschei gets the strangest sense of deja vu, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Thanks,” Bucky murmurs. He looks so foreign in Koschei’s space, the feeling skittering unpleasantly up Koschei’s spine. “I, uh, come in peace.”

Koschei’s lips quirk, just slightly. “…Was that a pun?” 

“What? I don’t…oh. /Oh/. Oh holy shit, sorry.”

“Think nothing of it. I thought it was funny.”

“Then. Pun intended.” 

“Good.”

“Good.” 

Silence. 

“So—,”

“I just—,”

They both laugh a forced and strained thing, and Koschei can’t believe both of them are blushing. “Go ahead,” Koschei offers. Bucky smiles back and waits for Koschei’s nod of permission before sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“I just wanted to…clear the air, so to speak. I know…look. I know this is awkward. For all of us. And Steve and I have been trying to give you space, but I think this is better.” 

“/You/‘ve been giving /me/ space?”

“Yeah! What, you think I just, like, didn’t notice you or something? But that’s not the point.” Bucky pauses and takes a deep breath. “I’m not threatened by you, Koschei.”

Koschei’s smile fades and he clenches his jaw, narrowing his eyes. “I wasn’t worried.”

Bucky blinks at the sudden hostility before his words catch up to him and he jolts from the bed, hands placatingly out in front of him. “Oh shit, no, fuck, I didn’t mean it like that, I swear! I’m just not…good at talking yet. Anymore. Again. Fuck. Let me try again?”   
Alright, even Koschei has to admit the stammering is a bit endearing. At least Steve didn’t leave him for an asshole. Koschei relaxes his posture and nods at him, eyebrows raised. Bucky gives him a grateful smile.

“Thanks. Um. I meant that I don’t…dislike you, or have any hard feelings towards you, or some shit. I don’t see you as a rival. I think we’re all too old for a love triangle and neither of us have an interest in that. I respect you and I respect what you and Steve had and I don’t want to keep you two from being best friends or hugging or something. Basically, uh…no drama, no petty shit, no hard feelings, and I hope we can be friends someday. Cool?”

Oh. “Oh,” Koschei responds eloquently, his eyes wide. He walks slowly over to where Bucky sits on his bed and sits next to him. “Thank you, Bucky, for saying that. It…really means a lot. I was…”

“Worried?”

“Quite.” 

“Well, don’t be.” Bucky nudges him slightly, and Koschei realizes with an undeterminable feeling that Steve must’ve picked up the habit from him. “We’re all one big happy family here, ain’t we?”

“Something like that,” Koschei chuckles. “And you’re right, I’ve no interest in love triangles. I love Steve, dearly and intensely, and all I want is for him to be happy. You make him incredibly happy, so I’ve nothing against you. I respect what you two have as well.” 

“What would you do to me if I hurt him?” Bucky teases, a side of his lips quirking up. 

Koschei deadpans back, “You would beg for Hydra,” and Bucky laughs out loud, genuinely, with his head tossed back and all. 

“/Damn,/ I see why he went for you.” Despite the compliment, Koschei falters a bit at the past tense, looking down and hating himself for it. There’s a moment of awkward silence before Bucky hesitantly puts his flesh arm around Koschei’s shoulders, jostling him a bit. “He still loves you, y’know. Misses you. Hates himself for hurting you.”

“He shouldn’t.”

“To which part?”

Koschei shrugs and then slowly stands back up and puts some distance between them, eternally grateful when Bucky doesn’t follow. “If you don’t mind me asking, why…now? I am genuinely happy you’re alive and well and no longer, uh, what you were, but…what happened?”

Bucky looks down this time, shrugs his own shoulders before rolling his head on his neck to look up at Koschei with sad, kind eyes that look way too much like his own. “I almost killed myself.” The blunt casualty clashes uncomfortably with the words and Koschei’s lips twitch in an almost-grimace. Been there. “Several times, actually. When I got away from my handlers I was stayin’ in this tiny motel room with nothing but weapons and bounties to my name, and I almost let my demons win. 

“But I missed Steve. That’s the sappy truth. I knew he was out there, kept tabs on him, remember when he went out of town for my funeral, and I missed him. And then, I dunno, I just kept thinking about what his reaction would be if he knew I wasn’t dead. I knew our gentle idiot had no sense of self-preservation—,” Koschei chuckles at that and Bucky smiles at him, “— so I knew he’d be happy to see me, and I thought it’d be nice to feel loved again. To love him in person again. I knew he was with you, though, so I admittedly waited a bit, just, uh…in case. Sorry.”

“No need. I’d do the same.”

“Right. Yeah. Well, you two didn’t break up, and I thought it’d be fine. Thought I could go back to being Steve’s best friend and that’s all I needed. Realized I was doing more than fantasizing, I was /planning/, and, well, I got off my sorry ass, cleaned myself up as much as I could being all malnourished and Walking Dead-esque, and — what, yes, I know the Walking Dead, the fuck do you think I did in that motel room all day long? — and I came here.”

Koschei’s still shaking his head at the unexpected reference but he’s smiling, and he nods at him. “Well, thank you for coming back for him. And thank you for not /intending/ to break us up.”

“C’mon. It’s like you said — all I want is for him to be happy. He /was/ happy with you, Kosch.”

“It is — /really/ — not your job to comfort me about this.”

“And yet here I am.” 

Rolling his eyes, Koschei drops the subject and holds out his hand. “So. Truce? To becoming friends and skipping the awkward rivalry stage?” 

“Truce. ‘Bout time.” Bucky stands up and claps his hand in Koschei’s, yanking him suddenly into a tight, warm, way-too-comforting hug. Koschei indulges it because, well, it’s been six weeks since someone’s held him, and Bucky smells like leather and Steve. 

It lasts way too long.

Neither of them mention it, and all is well. 

~

Their talk brings a sense of normalcy back to the tower’s atmosphere that Koschei, for one, has sorely missed. Things are different — obviously — but without the weight of Bucky’s opinion of him pressing down Koschei’s shoulders, it’s almost too easy to settle into a new routine. Not only that, but knowing everything’s been smoothed over has given Steve the confidence boost to proactively seek out Koschei’s friendship again. They still go for runs together in the morning, and now Bucky joins them, something that was awkward at first but now, even in silence. their runs are perfectly comfortable. The three of them, therefore, end up having breakfast at the same time in the mornings, and so naturally get hungry around the same time for lunch, and as such crave dinner around the same hour as well. 

It just makes sense. 

Of course, Koschei could be…better. His first thunderstorm alone was spent sitting straight up in bed, eyes wide and unblinking and wet as they stared at the wall, his whole form trembling as the drums pounded and rolled through his head in time with the flashes of lightening outside. His cheeks were only dry because he was too terrified to let his tears spill over, and isn’t that just the most pathetic thing?

Words can’t describe how much he misses waking up in Steve’s arms, cuddling him at night, being able to kiss him whenever he wanted. It aches physically, like hollow stones in his hearts, but Steve and Bucky have cultivated a space for him in their lives, and the gratefulness Koschei feels for that almost melts those stones. 

At the very least, it makes them softer. 

He knows Steve doesn’t love him as much as he loves Bucky, and he understands it isn’t personal, but of course — of /course/ — it’s like swallowing glass to accept. Being able to still bond with Steve, be his friend, lets him feel like he’s still important to him. He will never be the number one person in Steve’s life again — he probably never was — but at least he’s /in his life/. And that, Koschei knows, will just have to be enough.

~

Eight weeks after Bucky’s arrival, the Avengers are called to action. Loki, backed by a rabid army of undead wolves, rains snarling, foaming wrath upon the city of New York. The wolves need to be dismembered to stay dead, their guns useless against the spell that animated them, and so the battle turns into a grueling, gory, horrific war that shakes them up more than any of them will admit. 

Bucky fits in well, though. He and Steve volley the shield back and forth, and occasionally they boost Koschei higher into the air with it. It’s seamless, his integration into their fighting — without any planning Bucky’s letting the Hulk toss him around and throwing Natasha more wolves and gathering arrows for Clint, and he even saves Tony’s life towards the end. Sam ends up carrying him to the top of the building Loki has been, oddly, perched atop the entire time. 

Wiping blood from his brow, Koschei squints up at the building and nudges Steve as they try to catch his breath. “Isn’t it — weird,” Koschei pants, “that he’s just been sitting up there?” 

Steve nods vaguely, squinting upwards as well now. “Yeah, yeah it is.”

“Probably just trying to get us interested,” Clint intones through their comms. “Y’know, power play and all. Kinda his deal.” 

“I dunno.” Koschei watches as the Hulk lumbers off into the quinjet to calm down, and he sits down on a piece of rubble as Sam and Bucky drag Loki’s sorry arse back down to Earth. “This doesn’t seem like…typical bad guy behavior.” 

Shrugging, Steve ruffles Koschei’s hair before stretching. “He’s the God of Mischief. Nothing he does is typical. C’mon,” he nods his head towards the trio now standing on actual ground, “let’s go see how good of an actor he is.” 

As soon as Loki sees Koschei and Steve, he grins almost comically-wide and waves at them. Bucky rolls his eyes and yanks that waving arm back into handcuffs. Sam already looks pissed. “You must be the /other/ new Avenger,” Loki purrs at Koschei, his eyes twinkling. “I’d shake your hand if I could. I assume you know who I am….?”

“Yes,” Koschei replies curtly, arms crossed. 

“Mmm, and your name is…?” 

“More to the point,” Steve interjects, taking a half-step in front of Koschei that sends his hearts into flames, “what do you have to say for yourself?”   
Loki’s eyes widen in innocence, and he shrugs. “About what, this? This…wasn’t me.” He laughs way too heartily. “What would I possibly have to gain?” 

“If it wasn’t you, then who?” Koschei demands. Loki’s ever-present grin flickers for just a moment before returning full blast, this time with a lecherous wink.

“My, there’s something /dark/ in you, isn’t there?” he flirts. Koschei freezes. Briefly, but long enough for Steve to touch his elbow and Bucky to glance at him, and certainly long enough for Loki to recognize he's hit something. “I’ll tell you what — the name I have, darling, for the name /you/ have.”   
Koschei’s lips curl in disgust and he would just go help the others with clean-up, but it feels like an admittance of weakness to do so, so he just squares his stance and raises his eyebrows. “I am not interested in a deal. No one is.”

“So how ‘bout this?” Bucky hisses out, jerking Loki in his grip and yanking him closer to growl into his ear, “The name you have for your miserable excuse of a spine in tact.” 

Damn. If even Koschei has to suppress a shudder at the heat those words sent through him, Steve must be out of his damn mind. A quick, surreptitious glance up at him and he sees Steve’s ears are bright red and that’s all the confirmation he needs. Koschei clears his throat. 

“Such threats,” Loki taunts, struggling faintly in Bucky’s arms. “Why do you assume I’m the villain here, hmm?” 

“Lucky guess,” Sam quips dryly. “C’mon, let’s get this asshole to the jet. Cap?” 

“Yeah,” Steve nods, crossing his arms, “and make sure someone calls ahead to prepare our big cell. We’re taking no chances with this one.” 

~

Calling Loki “uncooperative” would be an understatement so vast it’s just bad writing. He dodges their questions, turns the conversation around on each one of them every chance he gets, and not only that, but he has this sick fascination with Koschei that makes absolutely everyone uncomfortable. The most frustrating part, though, is how on the surface, Loki /does/ answer their questions. He’s making a mockery of cooperation. He answers in grandiose riddles and bold-faced lies that cement his reputation as the Trickster God, and annoy the ever-loving /fuck/ out of everyone there.

As it turns out, Loki is sticking to his “innocent” schtick. He swears up and down he didn’t cause the attack, and was rather running from it as well. He refuses to tell us the actual perpetrator, and so he is confined to his cell until Thor can pick him up. Something about him, though, is off in a familiar way that rolls Koschei’s stomach. Loki talks of brainwashing and manipulation, of having no control over his own body and simply watching his acts of terror from the inside.

Like a lucid dream. 

The last thing Koschei wants is to feel sympathy (or worse — empathy) for this monster but he can’t deny the part of him that believes Loki’s story. Maybe he’s a fool for that. At the very least, Loki’s insistence upon flirting and taunting Koschei as much as humanly possible is keeping him from feeling too bad. Even Bucky looked angry on Koschei’s behalf by the time they’d all gotten through a train-wreck of an interrogation with him. Koschei left it feeling gross and dirty and sort of like taking a shower.

Of course, luck is never on his side for long. And as luck would have it, Koschei is the only one around to bring Loki his meals day in and day out, which is fine. It will be fine. Koschei can handle gross flirting, and he can certainly handle games.

He just has to ignore the tickle in the back of his mind.


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Koschei have some quality time together that only Loki is happy about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update 2, electric boogaloo.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: self-loathing, creepiness, talk of mental illness, slimy flirting.

“Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and steamed carrots,” Koschei lists mechanically, sliding in the plastic food dish through the little slot in the cell. “Enjoy.” 

Loki raises an eyebrow at him, that ever-present smirk seeming to curl a little in disgust. “/This/ is what you call meatloaf? It’s a /hockey puck/. Have you no respect for the culinary arts?” 

Koschei just stares back at him blankly. “It’s meatloaf. Eat it or starve.” Granted, the meatloaf /did/ look rather like a hockey puck, too dark and unusually round for a loaf, but after all, this /was/ prison food. Loki scoffs but accepts the tray, sitting down on his sparse bed to eat. Sighing, Koschei leans back against the wall and watches him, checking his watch every few moments. He understands /why/ they have to watch, but god, there are so many things he’d rather be doing right now. 

“So,” Loki starts, looking up at him around a plastic forkful of carrots, “you’re like me.” 

“I am nothing like you,” Koschei retorts, letting all of his boredom seep into his words. 

“Except for the part where we’re both ancient off-worlders with time and energy related abilities and an unpredictable dark side?” 

Silence.

Shit. 

“My dark side isn’t unpredictable, and it doesn’t involve innocent people getting killed,” he finally responds. Which is true. /His/ dark side is just a temper. Loki, however, seems to look through his very being, food going ignored. 

“What’s his name?”

“Whose.”

“The man who lives inside your head.” 

Koschei, hearts in his throat, just stares back at him, struggling to keep his face as blank and bored as it’s supposed to be. Loki grins lasciviously and stands from his bed, walking to the glass wall of the cell between them and pressing his palms against it.

“I’d /love/ to meet him sometime.” 

Without another word, and without collecting the tray or even paying it mind, Koschei leaves the room. 

~

“That shirt looks rather fetching on you,” Loki demures the next day, leaning back against the far wall of his cell with crossed ankles and arms. Koschei rolls his eyes as he slides in Loki’s dinner through the slot. 

“It is a basic black shirt,” he points out curtly. 

“Yes, yes it is. And you fill it out /wonderfully/.” 

Koschei can’t help the grimace that curls his lips. The should-be-unflattering yellow lighting of the cell casts perfectly over Loki’s features, shines his hair, and it makes him look regal and powerful and…good. And Koschei hates it. “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish by flirting with me, but it’s not getting you anywhere. I could /not/ have less interest if I tried.” 

Loki laughs airily and picks at his food, twiddling a thin, slimy piece of spinach between two fingers like a ribbon. “Oh, is that so?”

“/Yes/. You’re not even my type.”

“Were you Steve’s?”

Koschei slams the door on his way out.

~

It’s a very near thing — Koschei almost doesn’t show up the next day. Loki is way too good at getting under Koschei’s skin, in a way he most certainly /shouldn’t/ be, and it rattles him. But in the end, just as always, duty takes the place of comfort. Hopefully it won’t be much longer anyways; Thor had finally contacted the team back about collecting Loki, and he’s supposed to arrive sometime next week. Thank god for that. 

Koschei mutters to himself as he puts together the pre-determined prison dinner, hating how it’s already almost a routine (this is only the third day!), before heading down to the cell and bracing himself for whatever uncomfortable flirtation awaits him today. This time, however, instead of Loki’s usual display of sexual arrogance, Koschei finds him sitting quietly on his bed with his knees drawn to his chest, staring blankly at the wall ahead of him. Koschei’s pace falters for just a moment, frowning in tentative confusion, before he slowly and silently slides in Loki’s tray. It goes completely unacknowledged. 

Feeling more than a little off-kilter, Koschei decides he can break the watching rule and leaves Loki alone with his dinner and his thoughts.   
He could’ve sworn he heard someone laughing right before he shut the door. Must’ve been in his head.

~

If it weren’t for the security footage Koschei sneaks a peek of before his “shift,” he might’ve thought he’d imagined Loki’s little episode. Especially because when he next goes in to give Loki his meal, Loki’s already waiting for him against the glass closest to the room’s entrance, practically /beaming/ at him. 

“My, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” 

Ugh. Koschei wishes he’d go back to the whole brooding thing. He says as much, and Loki’s face does a weird, almost imperceptible twitch before smoothing into a sultry smirk, accepting his tray happily. “Tell me, Koschei, do you cook these meals yourself?” 

“They’re pre-made. I reheat them.”

“You do it /wonderfully/.”

God. “Bullshit. Your steak is black and smells like chicken.” 

Loki considers this for a moment before nodding and shrugging his concession. “Alright. But the lie was worth the flattery, was it not?”

“I’m not flattered.” 

“I should try harder then.”

“You /really/ shouldn’t.” 

“Why not? Isn’t that how our dear Captain won your heart? Or, hearts, I suppose?”

“Wh—how do you even kn—why do—,” Koschei splutters, flustered with anger and frustration, before pausing to take a slow, calming breath and trying again. “/What/ is the point of bringing him up? Hmm?” 

Putting his hands up in mock-surrender, Loki sits back down on his bed. His tray of food has still not been touched. Does he know Fury reprimanded Koschei for leaving early last night? Does he know he’s been ordered to stay until the tray is empty? Just the thought of being held hostage by /his/ prisoner, for some /stupid/ mind game, clenches Koschei’s fists and jaw. “I’m just….relating,” Loki assures him, stupid smirk still in place. “And learning.” 

“Learn to keep your mouth shut. How about that?” Koschei hisses. “Eat your food.”

“How can I do that with my mouth shut?”

Rage burns way too hot through Koschei’s veins but it’s good, and he’s glad for it, because in that instant everything clicks into place and he knows /exactly/ what Loki’s doing, and he’s just about to call him out on it, when suddenly Loki’s face drops and all his strength and power seems to fall through the floor and slump his shoulders on the way down. The words die on Koschei’s tongue because he doesn’t know which ones to use, the whiplash from Loki’s change clashing uncomfortably with the anger still echoing and strumming through him. 

“I really didn’t do it, you know,” Loki admits quietly, not even looking up. “The attack. Those creatures. I was telling the truth.”

“Yeah?” Koschei forces out, “Then who’s responsible?” 

Loki chuckles, but it’s hollow and empty, accompanied by a ruefully slow shake of his head. “I can’t tell you that.”

“How convenient.” 

“You should understand,” Loki says, finally meeting Koschei’s eyes. “You of all people, Koschei, should understand. You left your universe for the comfort of your first beloved, did you not?”

“…./How/ do you /know/—,”

“That is not important.”

“It most certainly is.”

“Just…,” Loki trails off and sighs, and for a moment he looks so much like a /victim/ Koschei has to swallow an unwanted seed of pity, “remember — I’m the God of Mischief, not Torment.” 

Speechless and unhappy about it, Koschei clamps his mouth shut with a click and shakes his head, leaning back against the wall. Several silent, uncomfortable minutes tick by as Loki eats with his head down. 

“This food really /is/ rather disgusting, though,” Loki finally huffs, glancing up at Koschei. Koschei snorts a little and shrugs. 

“We’ve already been over this. I didn’t cook it.” 

The rest of the evening goes by without incident. Koschei leaves when he’s supposed to, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel about that. 

His head hurts.

~

“I could tell you believed me, when we first met,” Loki tells him the next day, and Koschei bites back the question of how he knows that because he knows it’ll never be answered. Instead, Koschei shrugs noncommittally and slides in Loki’s tray. Loki watches him with raised eyebrows, waiting for a response. Koschei is silent. “You should.”

“And I can tell you’ve been trying to lure out the Master and use him against me,” Koschei retorts automatically, and then freezes. He doesn’t have to look up to see the grin that grows across Loki’s face.

“The /Master/, hmmm? My, what a name. I /do/ hope he lives up to it,” Loki purrs, all but pressing himself up against the cell’s glass between them. Staying still and silent, Koschei shuts his eyes and mentally counts to 10. He doesn’t make it past 4. “I hope he can /prove/ it,” he continues, lecherous and suggestive. 

Koschei shakes his head to clear it and turns on the spot, walking briskly to his usual place against the wall to watch Loki eat. “Shut up and eat your dinner, Loki.”

“What if I made you a deal?” 

“No.”

“I’ll tell you who caused that attack if you let me meet your Master.”

“/The/ Master,” Koschei hisses back venomously before catching himself and lowering his voice. “And no. You’re the God of Mischief, Loki, you won’t tell me anything unless you want to tell me first. Besides — you’ve kept it a secret for this long. If you are truly innocent, you wouldn’t bother hiding the name of the guilty if it weren’t too important.” 

Loki, at that, just huffs and eats his food. Koschei counts it as a win. Absently, he massages his temples, takes a few deep breaths. Just to pass the time. 

His head does hurt, actually. Annoyingly. It feels like…well, it feels like….

It feels like someone’s knocking. 

With a sharp, shaky inhale, Koschei tips his head back against the wall and forces himself to /breathe/, his eyes now wide open and unblinking as he tries to be as present in his body as possible. /Onetwothreefour./ He shakes his head and swallows, trying to look as calm as possible, clenching his sweaty fists behind his back. 

/Onetwothreefour./

“Headache?” Loki asks lightly, a smile playing on his lips even as he keeps his eyes down on his tray.  
Koschei doesn’t respond. 

/Onetwothreefour./

Loki’s smile widens at the silence, and when he finally meets Koschei’s eyes his own have heat and promise and /danger/ in them. 

“Tell him I said hi.”

~

Koschei is barely out of the holding room before he’s running, his head cloudy and pounding — no, /drumming/ — with the beats of his hearts and all he can think of is getting to /one person./ He needs the one person who would understand, who would know what to say and what to do, needs him like air and water and /silence./ 

He runs through the halls and skids up the stairs, everything seeming longer and farther away than usual, before finally — /finally/ — he comes to a stuttering stop in front of the bedroom he used to call his own. Once he starts knocking, he can’t stop, and keeps going on an endless patternless pattern before the door opens and Koschei is finally face to face with the man he needs most and so, with a strangled, pained sound in the back of his throat, Koschei throws himself into Bucky’s arms. 

~

“I can’t go back,” Koschei admits gruffly, staring down at the comforter he and Bucky are sitting cross-legged on across from each other. The bed is familiar and soft under him, grounding, and he scratches absently at a loose thread near his knee. He’d told Bucky everything in his head. Everything about the Master, and the drums, and his terror at the idea of Loki being able to draw him out. The tears had passed and dried sticky on his cheeks and now Koschei is just…tired. Bucky hums in understanding and nods, drawing up his legs to lean closer to Koschei. 

“I get it, doll, I do. I’d be fuckin’ terrified if I thought the Soldier was comin’ back.” Bucky huffs out a little laugh, smiling crookedly, warmly at Koschei. 

“Sorta surprised you didn’t just sock him in the jaw.” 

Koschei smiles back at that, just a little. “Believe me, I wanted to. But I couldn’t…gods, Bucky, I could /feel/ him getting stronger. I couldn’t hear him, properly, but I could hear the drums and sense what the Master was feeling and it felt….,” Koschei trails off. 

“Felt like you were becoming less of a person? Like he wasn’t just coming out, but taking over?” Bucky supplies, eyebrows raised. With a grateful sigh, Koschei just nods back, drawing his knees up to embrace them and rest his cheek on. “Yeah. Yeah, I don’t miss that,” he murmurs sympathetically. “You wanna tell yourself you’re too strong to let that happen but —,”

“—Your strength means nothing when /his/ is stronger, especially —,”

“—Especially when someone /else/, who you /actually/ have no control over, seems stronger —,”

“—And then it’s…two against one,” Koschei finishes softly. Bucky huffs a light imitation of a laugh. 

“And you’re barely a match when it’s one against one.” 

“Exactly.”

They stare silently at each other for a couple moments, without awkwardness or tension. Koschei’s hearts feel a dozen times lighter knowing someone else understands even a /bit/ of what it’s like to have a monster live in your head. Bruce no longer counts — the Hulk just has anger problems — and Steve, who has always listened and always been there for Koschei and has helped him through so much, has…well, he’s always had the privilege of owning his own body. He can’t comprehend that kind of loss. 

“I’m sorry I, er, ambushed you, Bucky. I was a bit desperate and scared and I know you’d….—,”

“Hey, none of that. You knew I’d understand, and I do. I live every day terrified something will trigger the Soldier. Sometimes I swear I can hear the fucker murmuring his creepy Russian in my ear. Besides, we’re friends, pal. What’re friends for?” And Bucky finishes that question with a sweet, lopsided grin that makes him look so young and so handsome that for one foolish moment, Koschei’s hearts clench in his chest. 

They’re staring at each other again. Bucky looks like he wants to ask him something, but right before he can the door open and Steve strides in and the moment, if one could call it that, is broken. 

Steve pauses upon seeing the two of them on the bed, a confused smile on his lips as he shuts the door behind him. “You two havin’ a slumber party without me?” he teases, recovering from his surprise and trotting over to the bed. He hops onto it, just to the side and in front of Koschei and Bucky so the three of them sit in a small triangle formation, and he opens his mouth to crack another joke before he spots the dried tear-tracks on Koschei’s cheeks and suddenly he’s frowning and automatically wiping them away with his thumbs. “What’s wrong? What’d I miss?” 

Koschei’s too caught up in the sudden affection Steve is showing him to answer, torn between leaning into his warm hands and pulling away out of respect, so Bucky saves him from himself and answers for him. “Loki’s a dick, basically. Apparently he’s been trying to draw out the Master.” Steve’s gaze snaps towards Bucky in shock. “By the way, I know about the Master,” Bucky adds drily. Steve huffs a little laugh and turns back to Koschei, only now pulling his hands away. 

“Are you alright?”

“He almost succeeded,” Koschei mumbles shakily in response, a thin, barely smile on his face. “Loki did. He…he certainly deserves his title.” 

“Koschei did the right thing and came to me, though, because he knew I obviously have some experience with this sort of thing,” Bucky explains. Steve looks almost awestruck as the realization of their parallels dawns on him and Koschei barely restrains himself from kissing him. “And we /both/ agree that maybe we should get someone else to feed Loki until Thor can get rid of the fucker. It’ll only be a couple days more, right?” 

Steve looks away at that and down, scratching the back of his neck. Koschei and Bucky glance at each other with the exact same Look before looking back at Steve. 

“Steve,” Koschei coaxes, “what do you need to share with the class?” 

Bucky snorts. 

“So, about that…,” Steve starts, “um. We…think he might not be completely lying about his innocence, or at the very least he had more help than he’s letting on, so Fury has instructed me to make sure he doesn’t leave here before he confesses.”

“Give me a knife and an hour,” Bucky deadpans. 

Ugh. Hot. 

“That’s hot,” Steve responds, “but no. Not yet, at least. I’ll find someone else to bring him food, though. I’m sorry you had to deal with that, sweetheart.” 

Koschei quirks a smile at him in response before hiding a yawn into his hand, leaning back to roll his neck on his shoulders. 

“You should probably head to bed, Kosch.” Bucky nudges foots with him. “You look exhausted.” 

And, really, Koschei knows he’s right, but it lances through his hearts because just sitting here, with Steve calling him sweetheart on the bed they shared for two years, with Bucky knowing the darkest parts of himself and not only understanding but /relating/ to him, Koschei could almost forget, well. 

He could almost forget he was a guest. 

Foolish. 

Clearing his throat, Koschei feigns another yawn to excuse his long pause and slowly climbs off the bed. “Thank you, again, for letting me vent to you, Bucky. It means a lot.”

“Any time, Koschei,” Bucky murmurs back, and usually that phrase is hollow and empty but Koschei instantly knows he means it, and they smile at each other because Bucky knows Koschei knows. 

“…And I’ll just go fuck myself,” Steve cuts in, but he’s grinning at the two of them and standing up to rub Koschei’s shoulder. The three of them laugh in a quiet, intimate way that hurts as much as it soothes. “But really, Kosch. You know you’re always welcome here. And I really am sorry you’ve had to deal with another scare like this. I’ll keep him away from you, alright? Bucky’s not the only one handy with a knife.” Steve’s eyes flash dangerously when he says that and Koschei has to fight the urge to drop to his knees because come /on/, Bucky has the excuse of ignorance, but Steve /knows/ his kinks. And, with the shit-eating way Steve is grinning at him, that hasn’t changed. Arsehole. 

“I know,” Koschei mumbles with a smile, hand briefly touching Steve’s waist before he pulls back and puts some distance between them. “Goodnight, gentlemen.”

And, with that and leaden feet, Koschei walks out of the bedroom and closes the door behind him. 

He really does need sleep.


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koschei's weak spots have never felt so weak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO!! Slightly delayed update, sorry about that! I'm traveling right now so didn't get time until today. ANYways, things are picking up a bit. This chapter has some heavy shit in it. Angst ahead with a light smattering of fluff and a PINCH of Steve Rogers being a dickhead because he gets cranky when it comes to justice. 
> 
> Warnings: mention of past dead offspring, cruelty, torture mention, and the slight possibility you might actually be on Loki's side. 
> 
> Enjoy~.

“Koschei? Koschei. /Koschei/!” 

Koschei’s head jerks upright from where it’d been slowly drooping down and he blinks rapidly as he tries his hardest /not/ to look like he’d just fallen asleep in the middle of an important SHIELD meeting.

Which he had. 

Fury’s glaring at him, angry at having to repeat himself three times, but thankfully he redirects his attention to the other SHIELD board members once he sees Koschei’s awake. Steve nudges Koschei under the table and gives him a worried, questioning look when they make eye contact, but Koschei just shakes his head almost imperceptibly in return. 

He’s just tired. He can count on one hand the number of hours he’s slept in the past few days and even though he no longer has to worry about seeing Loki every day, the Master’s presence still threatens his mind and sits heavy on his shoulders. Koschei scrubs a hand over his face and forces himself to focus on the meeting. 

When it’s finally over, even Clint pats his shoulder in passing. “You look like you haven’t slept in a month, man,” he says. Koschei shrugs and tucks his hands in his pockets. “…Loki get to you?”

“Perhaps a little,” Koschei admits. Clint smiles warmly at him in return. 

“Trust me — been there. If it helps, once he’s out of your head, he stays out. Get some rest.” 

“Thanks, Clint.” 

And with that, Clint lopes off to join Natasha for some sparring and Koschei’s alone with his thoughts once more. All he wants is to collapse onto something soft and /relax/, try and ignore the faint drum beat he can hear when things get too quiet, the taunting in the back of his mind. He yawns into his hand as he makes his way to the living room, the couch looking even more inviting than usual in his exhaustion once it’s in view, and then suddenly, Steve is right next to him with a friendly arm around his shoulders, guiding him away from it. 

“Oh no you don’t, Kosch,” he sing-songs, and Koschei watches mournfully as the couch gets farther and farther away (read: the OPPOSITE direction it should be going).

“Why…,” Koschei mumbles tiredly, glaring up at Steve’s /way too cheerful/ face. He realizes belatedly that Steve’s steering him into his bedroom right after Steve closes the door behind them. 

“Strip.” 

Koschei’s brain short-circuits. “…I beg your pardon.” 

Steve rolls his eyes and gestures to the pajamas still on Koschei’s bed. “/Strip/, and get back into your pajamas. You’re so tired you’re making /me/ tired, and we need to talk.”

“But…Steve, you’re—you will—,” he stammers. 

“I don’t mean to alarm you, Koschei, but I’ve actually seen you undressed before.”

Okay. Fair. 

Koschei huffs in response but obediently peels off his clothes and gets back into his pajamas, sitting on the edge of his bed when he’s done. Steve beams at him but instead of joining him on his bed, as Koschei expected, his smile turns loving and soft as he kneels down in front of Koschei and takes his hands, thumbs smoothing over the backs of them. Dumbstruck, Koschei just blinks dolefully at him. 

“Sweetheart. How much have you slept in the past 3 days?” 

“A bit here and there…,” he trails off noncommittally, before the look Steve gives him forces him to actually answer the question properly. “…About 4 hours.”

“And,” Steve prods gently, “I really don’t need to tell you how /not enough/ that is, right?” Something like anger makes Koschei pull his hands away from Steve and frown down at him. 

“Not sure if you knew, Steve, but I’ve had a couple things on my mind,” Koschei retorts sharply. He’s always cranky when he’s tired, angry when he’s scared. Mixing the two is a toxic recipe. But stubborn as always and obviously knowing all of this, knowing all of /him/, Steve just takes Koschei’s hands back and squeezes them. 

“‘Course I know that. That’s why I’m here. Koschei, I know I’m not in your head, nor do I have personal experience with this sort of thing, but I…I don’t think you’re in as much danger of the Master as you think.”

“And what makes you say that?” 

“Well…remember last time? You told me that before the Master actually gained control you could hear him talking. Like, actually having a conversation with you and all. That hasn’t happened, has it?” 

“…No, not yet—,”

“Nor have you had any nightmares about him like you did before.”

“Steve, that’s partially because I’m not sleeping,” Koschei points out, his hearts racing for a reason he can’t identify. 

Steve smiles up at him and shrugs. “But you slept a little, right? And nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah. I think you’re not giving yourself enough credit. I have no doubt Loki messed you up a bit but I think all he did was make you aware of the Master’s presence and panic a little. Other than that…babe, you’re keeping yourself awake for nothing.” 

“Steve,” Koschei sighs, shutting his eyes for a moment and shaking his head. “Steve, do you really think it wise for me to let my guard down? If you’re wrong, at /all/, the consequences would be /catastrophic/, and you /know/ that.”

“I’m not telling you to let your guard down,” Steve argues lightly, “just…sleep. Please. I’m worried about you. So’s Bucky. It’s not healthy and it’s not helping you and I hate to see you like this.” 

For a few moments Koschei just sits in silence and lets Steve hold his hands, lets the familiar warmth and weight of the contact soothe him, before he nods slowly and gives Steve a small smile. “Alright. You’re right, I’m just…scared. I’m so scared, Steve.” His voice drops to a whisper on the last sentence, smile turning to a grimace. Steve stands up and kisses Koschei’s forehead, letting his lips linger there like he used to, and Koschei just barely manages not to burst into tears. God, he does need rest. 

“I know you are,” Steve whispers, “I know. But you’re not alone and the Master knows that.”

“Loki doesn’t.”

“He comes anywhere near you again and he’s gonna find out, trust me.” 

Koschei laughs lightly and shakes his head, looking up at Steve with what he knows is way too much emotion in his eyes. “Can you…stay here? While I nap? Just for a little?” He almost expects Steve to say no, and tell him it’s inappropriate, and crossing a line, and uncomfortable, but of course, of course, what actually happens is that soft, eye-crinkling smile Steve reserved for the ones he loved and a gentle, warm pet through Koschei’s hair.

“Of course, doll. Of course I will. Scooch over, make room.” He and Koschei arrange themselves in the bed, the covers over Koschei and under Steve, but Koschei still ends up curled against him with his head pillowed on Steve’s chest. If the position is too intimate, too reminiscent of a different time and dynamic, neither of them mention it. 

And, despite the fear and the worried, sinking feeling that Steve is wrong, for just a couple of hours Koschei finally, /finally/ relaxes enough to close his eyes and sleep. 

~

He wakes up alone a couple hours later and tells himself it doesn’t hurt.

~

Things get better after that, marginally. Koschei feels much better after he’s had a decent night’s sleep, and he’d forced himself to listen to Steve’s advice. In other words, he slept a full six hours, and he’s happy to report he didn’t have a single inkling of the Master in his head for the entirety of it. There’s the slightest echo of the drums, when it’s just this side of too quiet, but Koschei knows by now what psychosomatic symptoms are like.   
He tells this to both Bucky and Steve when they pull him aside to ask, their gorgeous faces mirroring concern that thrums at Koschei’s hearts. “Really,” Koschei promises, “I…actually think Steve was right.”

“Don’t have to sound too surprised,” Steve teases, reaching forward to gently shove Koschei’s shoulder.

“I sure am,” Bucky quips back, all sparkling eyes and a little bit more of a smile. The two of them make teasing, childish imitations of each other’s words for a little bit and Koschei pretends to find this annoying, his hearts feeling lighter than they had in months.

He should’ve known it wouldn’t last. He should’ve known it was only a matter of time. 

Natasha pops her head around the corner of the living room to where the three of them are huddled up, an apologetic smile already on her face. “Sorry, boys. Duty calls. Loki’s ready to confess. And…he says he’ll only confess to one person alone or he won’t confess at all.” 

Koschei, Bucky, and Steve all exchange worried glances as the exact same thought goes through their minds. Gathering his courage, Koschei forces himself to ask despite the sinking feeling he knows the answer. “Who?”

And, because really, who /else/ would it be, Natasha smiles grimly and confirms their fears. “You.” 

~

Koschei moves slowly and deliberately to the interrogation table, and the metal chair that’s waiting for him behind it. Loki is already sitting across it in another chair, arms bound in front of him with sturdy looking cuffs Koschei is pretty sure he can break out of. And yet, bafflingly, Loki sits obediently and quietly with his head down, staring holes through his folding hands, not a single hint of his usual humor and mischief in sight. It reminds Koschei of that one odd, quiet day when Koschei was still responsible for feeding him.

He doesn’t like it. 

For a brief moment the drums get louder in his head. Koschei ignores them and takes his seat, nodding backwards to the blacked-out wall the others stand behind and watch through. There’s a loud, definitive “click” as the cameras turn off and the wall turns solid, and then they are alone. Koschei stares at Loki, who still hasn’t looked up, and waits. 

And waits. 

And waits.

And then it becomes pretty clear he’s going to have to talk first, so he clears his throat and leans forward. “You…said you wanted to tell us something?” Koschei prods, desperately hoping his tone comes across as innocent and conversational as he intends. 

Loki heaves a great sigh and finally, like a statue come to life, leans slowly back in his chair and straightens up, his movements seeming exaggerated after so much stillness, and he rolls his head back on his shoulders to look Koschei in the eye. His eyes are red-rimmed and glossy. Koschei genuinely doesn’t know what to make of it. “I have come…to a conclusion,” Loki finally murmurs, his voice rough and thick. Koschei only blinks in response, and Loki takes that as a sign to continue. “I want this to end. I want all this to end. And it cannot, I know now, without help.” He looks at Koschei significantly. “I’m going to tell you the truth. And then I am going to ask, nay — /beg/ you to help me. I know you think I asked for you to mock, or to taunt, but it is not so. You are…the only one who would understand, Koschei. You are the only one who can.” 

God. Why him? Why always him? 

Koschei huffs out a sigh through his nose and purses his lips, looking down at the metal tabletop for a moment before looking back up at Loki. “And what if I can’t help you? Or, of course, what if I /won’t/?” 

“Then you can’t. Or won’t. For once, I actually have no power here. I have nothing important to hold over you. And I am in no position to try. I won’t ask for guarantees or promises, Koschei, I just want…I just /need/ you to /hear me/, and consider.”

There is no way this can end well. And yet, unable to ignore a cry for help like that, Koschei nods his agreement before he can talk himself out of it, and Loki’s entire form seems to sag with relief. He then takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and opens them a moment later with a steely determination and an uncomfortable edge of what Koschei realizes is desperation. 

“It wasn’t me,” Loki affirms, voice low but sure, “it was my daughter. Hel. She is the Goddess of the Underworld, and well, I…was dead. Despite what my brother may think, I /did/ die. But it is a different death for gods, Koschei, and so I was just sent to the Underworld, doomed to spend an eternity despised and tortured by my own little girl.” 

“Christ,” Koschei mutters, eyes wide and body tense. It sounds so ridiculous, so outlandish, but Koschei sees nothing but raw pain etched into the lines of Loki’s face and knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s telling the truth. 

“Quite. I…couldn’t take it. I just couldn’t, Koschei, and so I did what I do best and escaped. That attack, those wolves…that was her finding me. I wasn’t making a point on that rooftop, I was /hiding/.”

“Innocent people died because of her, Loki. Because of you.”

“I know. And for that, I swear to you, I am truly sorry.”

Koschei sighs and decides to table that battle for a later time, gesturing for Loki to continue. 

“Yes, well, as I was saying. She has no quarrel with the souls of the living. Since I escaped, I’m now included in that, but I know she is not happy with my escape. That is why I’ve been here for so long. That is why I…was difficult.”

“The longer we kept you, the less power she had over you,” Koschei says, hating the sense it makes. As much sense as something like this /can/ make, at least. Loki nods his affirmation, smiling sadly. 

“There have been no more attacks not because I am in chains, but because she has given up.”

“And…where exactly do I come in, in all of this?” 

“Let me ask you this: now that you know who caused the attack, what do you plan to do?”

Oh. /Oh./

“You want me to convince the team to let her go, don’t you?” Koschei sighs. 

Loki jerks forward suddenly and grasps both of Koschei’s hands in both of his, tightly and shakily like a beggar, which, Koschei supposes, isn’t far off. “You are the only other parent on this team, Koschei,” Loki hisses out. “I know it. I sense it in you. You and I both know the pain of losing our children. You and I both know the pain of /failing/ our children, irredeemably so.” It strikes a chord that hasn’t been struck in decades and Koschei can’t help but recoiling at the hot pain that lances through him, memories of his daughters’ laughter and the way they would each choose a single finger of his to hold with their tiny hands and their screams of terror in the war, and Koschei was too late, he was too late, he—…

A slow finger smears the tear off Koschei’s cheek and he weakly bats it away, sniffling and wiping his own eyes as he composes himself. “Point taken,” he says gruffly. 

“I have already failed her as her mother—,” Loki responds quietly, and then when the term “mother” makes Koschei raise one eyebrow inquisitively, Loki just scoffs quietly and mutters, “—shapeshifter, come now—,” before continuing, “—but I have somehow managed to keep her safe all this time as her protector. I swear to you, Koschei, I /swear to you/, she does not care about hurting humans or anyone with a pulse. She has gone back to her Underworld and moved on, probably just waiting for the next time I manage to get myself killed. So yes — I want you to let her go. I want you to do what you will with me, but /please/, Koschei, /please/ don’t let them hurt my baby.” 

Koschei swallows thickly, jaw clenched. “Why didn’t you tell us this immediately? Tell /me/ immediately?”

“I needed to know if you’d listen. And I needed to make sure she had time to get away. She is my /daughter/, and all I have ever wanted was to do right by her and protect her. Can you really blame a mother for that?” 

“At the expense of innocent people, /yes/, I can.”

“Would you have done any different?”

No. And they both know it.

Fuck. /Fuck/.

The drums pound a bit louder in his head and Koschei shakes it to clear it. They sit in silence for several, long moments, lost in their own thoughts. Or rather, Koschei is lost in his thoughts, and Loki is just staring imploringly and desperately into Koschei’s eyes, gripping his hands once more. But it’s unnecessary, and Koschei knows it. Loki, damn him, pushed all the right buttons, and despite his better judgement, Koschei was on his side the moment Loki said “my daughter.” 

“Why does she hate you so much?” Koschei presses, needing something, /anything/ to justify saying no to this. Lord, tell him how to say no to this. 

But Loki just smiles sadly, in a way that’s not even a smile at all, and responds quietly, “I suppose I’ll never know.”

FUCK.

“I…will see what I can do,” Koschei finally tells him. Loki sags in relief and huffs out a breath, smiling this beatific smile so grateful it almost looks unnatural. 

“/Thank you/, Koschei, thank you, thank you, I swear to you she will never bother you again.”

“I cannot promise anything,” he warns, “as I am not the Captain of this team. I don’t have the power to overrule anyone else. But I will talk to Steve. I will…do everything in my power to convince him.”

“I understand. Really, I do. The fact that you’re even trying is the world to me. I swear I will be compliant and easy for the rest of my time here, you have my /word/, I—,”

“Yes, yes, you’re welcome, I get it.” Koschei scrubs a hand over his face and sighs, standing up. “Just…don’t make me regret this.”

Right. Convincing Steve Rogers not to go after a bully that terrorized his home town and killed dozens of innocent people because she’s the daughter of /another/ bully and probably won’t come back. 

How hard can it be?

~

“I beg your fucking pardon?” Steve practically hisses at him in the Avengers’ conference room, all of them standing around the great oval table in various stages of stress. “You go in there to get a confession for thirty minutes and come out on /his/ side, and wanting us to let the perpetrator /go/?” 

Koschei already hates every second of this. Upsetting Steve is one pain, but /angering/ him brings back so many painful memories and surfaces so many insecurities. He looks down at the table when he speaks. “Steve, I know how it sounds, but—,”

“Great! Then you know why there’s no way in /Hell/ we can do that.” 

Everyone in the room studiously ignores the pun. 

Bucky puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder and Koschei helplessly watches as just that touch relaxes him. Because of /him/, Koschei thinks. Bucky needed to calm Steve down because of /him/. “Give him a chance, Stevie. You know he wouldn’t even be bringing it up without good reason.” Koschei shoots Bucky a grateful look and watches, despairingly, as Bucky both sees it and opts to pretend he hadn’t. 

“She doesn’t care about hurting anyone with a pulse, Steve,” Koschei explains, keeping his tone level and low, “that is the /only/ reason why I’m even bringing it up. She is no threat. Loki is alive now, so she has no power over him.”

“Can’t believe Loki’s a mother,” Tony huffs, finally sitting in one of the table’s chairs. “All of this is, uh. Ridiculous. You /do/ know that, right?”

“Of course I do, Tony. Of /course I do/, but I promised I’d try. I know what it’s like to be unable to protect your children.” He /really/ doesn’t like admitting that to a room full of people, even /his/ people, but he knows to pull out all the stops. 

“Koschei, buddy, pal,” Sam cuts in, disbelief all over his face, “you know Loki’s a /bad guy/, and does /bad things/, correct? Like you didn’t forget that?”

Koschei glares back at him. “Yes, Sam, thank you for your contribution. I am not a /moron/.” Sam holds his hands up in surrender and leans back in his chair. 

“Well,” Bruce sighs, “if she’s really no threat and Loki’s promised to leave peacefully back to Asgard, I don’t really see the harm in letting her go.” 

“Amen to that, Brucie,” Tony quips. “If Loki were my mother, I’d probably turn into a raging death god myself. Howard almost succeeded. She’s not our problem anymore.” Steve glares at him in what is decisively a Not The Time glare. It almost makes Koschei smile to see. 

“I’m with Steve,” says Clint. “Tesseract or not, that slimy asshole’s been in my head. I’ve been privy to all the fucked-up things he thinks he deserves, so excuse me if I’m not believing he suddenly has paternal — um, sorry — maternal instincts. I’d bet my left hearing aid he’s going to betray you.” 

“/Listen/,” Koschei insists, “I understand the hesitation, I /do/. I’ve seen true evil before. I’ve /been/ true evil before. And Loki, for all his…fucked-upness and many, many flaws, is /not/ true evil. He is a three-dimensional person and right now, right now in this /instant/, all he is, is a mother in need of our help.” 

“I can understand being a bad guy in need of the good guy’s help,” Natasha murmurs, arms crossed over her chest. “I’ve been that bad guy before, and Koschei’s right — Loki’s an annoying piece of shit but he isn’t the murdering maniac the Tesseract made him in New York six years ago.”

One by one, the Avengers start arguing amongst themselves, save for Koschei, Steve, and Bucky. Bucky is just…watching Steve, with this pinched look on his face. And Steve…

“I cannot believe how easy it was for you to change loyalties, Koschei,” Steve growls, his hands clenched into fists. He’s never been angry at Koschei like this. Ever. Everyone else’s arguing seems to just be spurring him on, stoking the flames. “After /everything/, how could you—,”

“My loyalties are with you and this team and this /planet/ as they have always been,” Koschei cuts back, finding and grasping onto the fire that accusation lights in him, “and I will not tolerate you accusing me of otherwise.”

“Oh, well /excuse/ me, Your Highness, I forgot you only /tolerate/ blind obedience—,”

“—How /dare you/, Steve, how /dare you/? I am doing what I believe to be right! Our /prisoner/ came to me in confidence, in /tears/, and he /begged/ me to help him keep his daughter safe, and he didn’t even ask for a /promise/ as long as I’d try—,”

“—Please, this has /nothing/ to do with him and everything to do with your inferiority complex and your incessant need to impress an ex who isn’t even in this universe anymore!” 

Silence. 

Still, still silence. 

Koschei stares at Steve in wide-eyed, teary shock, hearts hammering with adrenaline and hurt as he clenches his fists at his sides. Steve looks shell-shocked and pale like he can’t believe what he just said, heat of the moment or not, but he makes no move to apologize or take it back, and Bucky mutters “Christ” under his breath. Tony whistles lowly and Natasha, wise and wonderful as she is, takes that as her cue to quietly usher everyone who isn’t Koschei, Steve, or Bucky out of the room, the door clicking shut gently behind her so the rest of the team can continue to debate without intruding.

No one so much as breathes and Koschei can’t help but draw a heart-wrenching parallel between the three of them here, and the three of them huddled around the corner joking before Loki’s confession. Before Loki ruined it. Before /he/ ruined it. 

Drums fill the silence, but Bucky is the first to break it. “Steve, that was—…you should apologize. That…that was bad.” He shoots Koschei an apologetic look, face twisted into an uncomfortable grimace. 

Steve takes a deep, slow breath and shuts his eyes to compose himself, but when he opens them again there’s still a deep-seated rage within them as he looks at Koschei, tinged with only the barest hint of remorse. “Fine. Fine. I can’t believe I’m even /entertaining/ this, but we will…consider it.” Not an apology, Koschei thinks bitterly but says nothing. Steve stalks over to him and Koschei fights the urge to back up, staring up stubbornly at him even when they’re toe to toe. “But if we do this and Loki is wrong, or — more accurately since he’s the /God of Lies/ as you’ve conveniently forgotten — deceiving us, and she comes back because /you/ told us to let her go? That will be on /you/. 

“But I guess you don’t care about scrubbing your hands clean after all, huh?” 

Bucky curses quietly under his breath at that but Steve just marches from the conference room without another word. For a moment Bucky looks like he’s going to say something, like he’ll apologize on Steve’s behalf, but then he just shakes his head and follows after Steve.

And Koschei is alone with the drums. 

~

Later on that night, Koschei stands in his shower, leaning heavily against the wall of it as the water beats onto his back. He wonders why the Master gave up so easily and never showed again after that brief bout of laughter. He wonders how he kept quiet throughout this whole ordeal, which was ripe with triggers and openings. 

He wonders, but by the time he realizes it’s because the Master never left, that he’s been murmuring his opinions and suggestions directly into Koschei’s subconscious the entire time, lulling him into a false sense of security, letting him think he had /won/, well.

By then it was too late.


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was like a lucid dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER IS FUCKED UP AND POSSIBLY TRIGGERING! 
> 
> I tried to make things vague and as...non-aggressive as this sort of thing can be, given the circumstances. Long story short: dub-con ahead, possibly non-con depending on how you interpret it as the reader. The Master and Loki consent, Koschei does NOT. There isn't an overwhelming amount of detail -- it's nowhere near as explicit as my actual sex scenes are, but still. If you want to skip that scene, stop reading at "What is he about to do?" and continue after "/Oh gods, it wasn’t me/." After that, it's just talking about the incident without any real detail. 
> 
> Warnings besides this include: Loki being fucking awful but not as bad as the Master (depending on how you see it) and talk of mental illness.
> 
> Enjoy SAFELY~.

It’s different this time. This time, the Master doesn’t take over — he shares the wheel, with a very loose definition of the word “share.” Koschei can, for the most part, keep him under wraps, but little by little he creeps out in spurts in a perverse role-reversal of how things used to be when Koschei was the one being trapped. If that means he spends more time than usual muttering to himself, well, no one mentions it. 

In fact, the day after Koschei’s fight with Steve, no one talks to him at all. He can’t tell if it’s out of respect, concern, or anger (in Steve’s case it’s definitely anger, and doesn’t that burn?) but it makes everything seem…fruitless. 

Loki is back in his cell, awaiting an imminent pick-up from Thor in the next day or so, and this time Koschei volunteers to feed him. The Master reassures him it’s the right thing to do. And, in a pathetic sort of way, Koschei can’t deny he’s eager for the contact with another person — specifically someone who isn’t currently disappointed in him. 

They say age makes you apathetic towards this sort of thing. Koschei finds it has the opposite effect. 

Koschei clicks the door shut behind him with his foot as he carries Loki’s dinner to him, studiously ignoring the pit in his gut at the deja vu, in hopes that the two of them can build on their common ground and maybe, just maybe, Loki will stay on the good side and leave without too much of a fuss. Loki stands up as soon as he hears him and smiles slow and wide at Koschei with none of the desperation and warmth from before. It brings Koschei up short. As far as he knows, no one has told Loki that the team ultimately decided to let Hel go. Therefore, as far as he knows, Loki should still be worried about his daughter’s safety. 

He stops walking. The tray of food shakes perilously in his grip. Someone, distantly, in the back of his mind, tuts at him. 

“You’re feeling better,” Koschei says curtly. He narrows his eyes as Loki laughs heartily and steps closer to the glass.

“How did it go?” he asks back, the deflection so obvious it’s almost insulting. /Is/ insulting, actually. 

“…They listened to me. They’re letting her go. You’re welcome.”

“Mm. Well, I’m sure she’ll rest easy now.” 

The tray creaks. 

“You were lying,” Koschei bites out, forced calm as he meets Loki’s eyes. 

“Nonsense,” Loki scoffs, waving a hand dismissively at the thought. “Everything I told you was true. She caused the attack, trying to find me, to drag me back to the Underworld for eternal torture. She is my daughter, and I love her very much. She has no interest in attacking the living, and is therefore no longer a threat. But, I suppose, I /may/ have twisted the truth a /little/…,” he trails off, looking innocently off to the side like a mockery of a child getting scolded. 

“What. Was. The. Lie.” Koschei cannot find it within the rage in his hearts to intone his words into a question. 

“Well. Come now, darling. She is the /Goddess of Death/, the ruler of the Underworld. Do you /really/ think she was actually in danger of being /found/ by you lot? What were you going to do, pop down to the Underworld and drag her out?”

“…So what you’re telling me is, without my help in the /slightest/, we could’ve combed the Earth and the universe around it for the rest of our lives without ever finding her, and therefore she was never in danger, and therefore you /used the death of MY CHILDREN/—,” Koschei pauses, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and taps his fingers against their new imprints on the tray he still holds before continuing, “—to manipulate me into helping you and going against my team for /nothing/?” 

He opens his eyes and sees Loki beaming back at him. The “yes” doesn’t need to be spoken to be deafening. 

“Why?” Koschei asks quietly, hearts hammering in his ears. Someone’s laughing. 

Loki shrugs casually and regards Koschei silently for a moment, before looking him dead in the eye to respond.

“Fun.”

The tray snaps in half and Koschei is bursting into Loki’s cell before he has time to think, grabbing him by the neck and forcing him up against the far wall. He’s too far gone to speak, teeth gritted and the taste of metal and red on the back of his tongue. Loki laughs around a wheeze as Koschei squeezes his throat, head tossed back like he’s delighted, like he’s /offering/. 

Someone whispers in the back of Koschei’s head, but he can’t tell if he heard or not. 

“What are you going to do, darling?” Loki gasps out at him, hands clamped around Koschei’s wrists but not struggling, not even digging his nails in. “I’m at your mercy, after all.” 

“/Shut up/,” Koschei grits out, breathing like he ran a marathon. He knows exactly what he wants to do. He wants to rip Loki’s throat out with his bare hands. He wants to floss with the sinew in his muscle. He wants to bash the smile off his face and then set it on fire. He wants revenge. He wants /justice/. He wants…

He /wants/. 

Someone tells him all of this in his head, but Koschei thinks it sounds like himself.

He steps in closer, nails cutting the soft flesh of Loki’s throat, and he stops pretending like he hasn’t been hard since the moment he burst into the cell. 

It’s been so /long/. 

It’s not like anyone else will touch him. 

“I,” Koschei hisses, pressing the full length of his body up against Loki’s until his erection digs into his hip, “am going to /ruin/ you.” 

Loki could get out. The cell door is open now. His magic has been here the whole time. And yet, instead of that, his smirk turns slow and dirty as he licks his lips and releases Koschei’s wrists to skate his fingers down Koschei’s arms. “Well then. What are you waiting for?”

Their kiss tastes like metal and hatred and war, and Koschei could cut through diamond right now. His blood sings in his veins, the lines between anger and arousal beyond crossed and instead fused as he pulls Loki back from the wall only to slam him into it again, one hand winding into that hair of his to yank his mouth closer, open wider. Koschei licks hotly into it and swallows every gasp, every moan Loki gives him like they’re apologies. Loki clutches at his waist, his shoulders, biting at his lips and rolling their crotches together. With a grunt, Koschei drags Loki away from the wall to shove him onto the flimsy cell bed, pulling his own shirt off as he crawls atop him, pins him down to bite his stupid throat and kick his knees open. 

It’s not until Loki is eagerly grabbing at Koschei’s belt that some of his senses return. 

What is he about to do? 

Is he so desperate for touch that he’s resorting to /this/? To him? 

Someone, distantly, shushes Koschei, soothes him, as Koschei kicks off his jeans and palms Loki’s cock with a dry, chafing hand. He doesn’t want to do this. /Yes/, he does. No. Wait. Yes? Wait. 

The wheel is too hard to control. They’re going to crash. He’s going to crash. 

Someone else should drive. 

After that, it—…

They—….

He w—….

It was like a lucid dream. 

Flashes of hot, tight pressure around his cock, a body under his crying out and arching rapturously.

He’s thrusting too hard, too fast, but it’s /good/, so good.

Nails scratch down his back, pull him in closer, and he goes willingly. 

He goes willingly. 

Someone is laughing, but he can’t tell who. 

Loki comes and it sounds like he’s singing and crying at the same time. /He/ comes victoriously, still laughing — oh, that’s who —, white pleasure crashing through them as he grinds dirty and deep into Loki’s body. 

And then the dream ends. 

Koschei blinks, and he’s awake, and Loki is humming contentedly and stretching like a cat under him, neck stretched back to show off the red marks that litter it. Nausea rolls through Koschei so violently he almost retches then and there. As it were, he practically falls off the bed, tugging on his clothes only enough to be presentable. He’s cold and clammy and tears are already thick in his throat and welling in his eyes and oh /gods/, what has he done?

Loki quips something about not staying for a cuddle but Koschei can’t hear it, /won’t/ hear it, as he stumbles from the cell with just enough mind to lock it shut behind him before, as he’s done every time he’s entered this /goddamn room/, he runs and slams the door shut behind him. 

/It wasn’t me,/ he thinks desperately, staggering through the halls. /It wasn’t me/.

/Oh gods, it wasn’t me/.

~

It turns out to be 3 in the morning by the time Koschei’s slamming on Steve and Bucky’s door. Steve opens quickly, still half asleep, and starts a little when he sees who’s there but Koschei doesn’t — /can’t/ — give him any time to say anything. Without any further thought he crashes into Steve so hard they both stumble back into the room, door swinging shut, and he’s sobbing into Steve’s chest before they’re even steady again. 

Half of him expects to be kicked out. He really should know better by now. 

Steve sinks to the floor right there in the middle of his bedroom, at 3am, to hold Koschei in his lap as he sobs himself ragged and hoarse. Bucky joins them almost immediately, sitting so close Koschei can feel his body heat as Bucky soothingly rubs his back. Neither of them ask what happened. Neither of them protest to being woken up. The kindness of it is so beyond anything Koschei deserves that he almost regrets coming here at all. 

Thirty long minutes pass before exhaustion wins over grief. Koschei stays slumped in Steve’s lap, listening to him and Bucky comforting him with soft, gentle sounds and touches. 

“Loki never needed my help,” Koschei whispers shakily. He figures this is the best place to start. Steve and Bucky stop talking but they don’t stop touching him, stroking his back and hair, wiping at his tears. Listening. “He…told us the truth, but Hel is. She’s. …It would’ve been impossible for us to find her. She was never in danger. He just,” he pauses, swallowing thickly, “he just thought it would be /fun/ to see what I’d do.”

Bucky curses under his breath and presses closer. Steve tightens his arms around him. “I never should’ve spoken to you like that, doll,” he murmurs to him, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I lost my temper for no good reason and I didn’t mean it, okay? I didn’t mean a word of it. I’m /so/ sorry.”

“I slept with him.” 

Silence. Stillness. Their hands pause but do not retreat. 

“You…”

“I don’t. I don’t know what happened,” Koschei admits, voice cracking on the last word, “I was just so /angry/ and I - I attacked him, I did, I - I pinned him against the wall by his throat but then everything in me…changed course. Loki…Loki wanted it, wanted that, and it was so /easy/ to give in, but then it just — I can’t explain—…,” He can. He knows he can. But gods, he doesn’t want to. 

Both Steve and Bucky seem to know where he’s going with this. 

Koschei takes a deep, shuddering breath and chooses his words very, very carefully. “I…lost control. I don’t…remember much. I remember it being me, and then me changing my mind in my head, and then suddenly i-it wasn’t /me/, and I was just /watching/ everything that happened, I just had to /watch/ my own body violate me because I was too weak to stop it. I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t…” Steve shushes him gently and Bucky presses his forehead into Koschei’s back, and he lapses into silence save for his still-uneven breaths. 

“I’m gonna say somethin’ you’re not gonna like,” Bucky warns, and Koschei tenses, bracing himself for what he /knows/ he deserves. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

The tension leaves Koschei as quickly as it arrived. “Bucky, I /started/ it, I—,”

“You were under an extreme amount of stress in an extreme situation, and then when you came to your senses the Master took over while you were vulnerable and forced you to go through with it. None of that is on /you/.”

“How can you /say/ that—,”

“He’s right,” Steve cuts in softly, tightening his arms around him. “Sure, you probably shouldn’t have barged into the cell. You shouldn’t have attacked him, stress or not. But that’s pretty much where any actual fault ends. /None/ of that invited what happened, and I think it’s safe to say neither of us are going to blame you for it. /Especially/ for the Master’s part.”

“Um. Speaking of,” Bucky says a little awkwardly, “is he—,”

“He’s gone,” Koschei affirms, before muttering, “He got what he wanted.” Bucky nods against him and Steve relaxes a little more. “But you don’t under/stand/. I didn’t fight him. I didn’t fight back. He tried to take over and I /let him/.”

“Bullshit,” they both respond, and Koschei heaves a sigh and buries his face deeper into Steve’s neck. Silence stretches on for several minutes. 

“I killed Tony’s parents.”

Koschei instantly whips his head around to stare aghast and confused at Bucky, who looks right back with resigned, sad eyes and a little smile to match. “As the Winter Soldier,” he explains, “they had something Hydra needed. They sent me out to get it and leave no survivors. So I did as I was told.” 

“…Bucky, that’s — that’s different, you were /brainwashed/. None of that is your fault.” He turns in Steve’s lap to face Bucky properly, cupping his cheeks in his hands. The three of them seem very content to ignore every boundary they should have. Bucky just lets his smile turn crooked and shrugs one shoulder. 

“Someone else was in control. And I didn’t fight back. Sounds the same to me, doll.” 

Koschei looks back at Steve, expects to find shock, but he knows the instant their eyes meet that this isn’t news to him. He turns back to Bucky and swallows thickly. “Does…Tony know?”

“No. Because I’m still a bit of a coward, and I made Stevie promise to respect that.”

“Not like it’d bring them back,” Steve points out softly. Bucky shrugs again. 

“The point is,” he says, “that if that wasn’t my fault, this wasn’t yours. We’ve both done some horrific things because someone else was in control, Kosch. We both have a lot of skeletons to live with that we didn’t have any choice in collecting. So you better believe, real and true, that I’m sure as /hell/ not going to blame you for something like this.”

“Neither of us blame you,” Steve continues after him, “and no one needs to know, okay? But it doesn’t change how either of us look at you or think of you. Not in the slightest.” 

“How fucked up is it that hearing about Tony’s parents made me feel better?” Koschei jokes weakly, but Steve and Bucky only smile at him and hug him close. 

~

In the spirit of crossing boundaries, Steve and Bucky help Koschei out of his clothes and into the shower with them. There’s no sex, not even an innuendo, just so much affection and care Koschei feels he may burst as the two of them diligently help him scrub his body clean. And afterwards, when he’s comfy in his own pajamas Bucky had grabbed for him from his room, they lay him down between them, under the covers, just as the sun starts to turn the sky that inky first blue. “You should stay here tonight,” Steve whispers, stroking his cheek. Bucky hums his agreement as he wraps his arms around Koschei from behind, face pressed into the back of his neck.

And Koschei does.


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koschei has a nightmare. It actually turns out okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fluffy, relationship-building, palate cleansing chapter. Two more to go after this one, and then this story is done! 
> 
> Warning for: blood mention, body horror, nightmares. Yes, I understand the irony in these warnings after calling it fluffy.
> 
> Enjoy!

In his dreams Koschei sees himself as if in a movie, laughing and covered in someone else’s blood. Loki is there, in the corner, naked and dripping blood as well, and he’s smiling that slow, dirty smile and Koschei is shoving meat, some kind of raw meat, into his mouth. Bits fall out amidst his laughter, flesh sticks in between his teeth like corn, and he looks down and suddenly, the dream is in first-person instead of third, and he’s ripping open a gaping wound in Steve’s lifeless stomach as Bucky screams and cries from somewhere unseen, but gods, Koschei can picture the agony on his face, and now Loki’s laughing too and Koschei sees his hands and they’re red, they’re so red, they’re red red red red—

He wakes up with a start. Steve is snoring softly into the top of his head but Bucky is nowhere to be found. Koschei looks around blearily, his hearts pounding and his skin crawling, but he finds himself yawning and burrowing closer to Steve (who grumbles in his sleep and hugs him closer and gods, has he missed that), and exhaustion threatens to pull him back under before he can think any further on it. His hand rests on Steve’s stomach and the solidity lulls him back to sleep. 

A loud, unnatural crack of thunder wakes both him and Steve up a couple hours later. Koschei heaves a little, wheezing as he sits up and tries to ride out the automatic waves of panic from the sound but Steve is instantly there again, rubbing his back with a warm, shaking hand. “We’re okay,” Koschei forces out, reaching back blindly to grab for that hand and squeeze it reassuringly. “We’re okay.”

“Yeah, we’re okay,” Steve whispers, chin resting on Koschei’s shoulder as he embraces him from behind with his free hand. They sit in silence for a moment to catch their breath. 

“Where’s Bucky?” Koschei asks softly, shifting out of his panicked hunch to recline back against Steve’s chest. 

“Not sure,” he frowns, automatically reaching for his phone on the bedside table and checking for any texts. “He might be working out or running. Does that sometimes. He likes, y’know,” Steve gestures at nothing, phone in hand, “the control. Being able to be spontaneous.” That warms and hurts Koschei’s hearts at the same time. Something must show on his face because Steve smiles like he agrees wholeheartedly with that. 

“That…thunder,” Koschei says, “was Thor. Wasn’t it? Is he here for Loki?” 

Red. Red red red red — okay, don’t say that name out loud again. A shudder ripples through him and Steve kisses his temple but otherwise doesn’t point anything out. 

“Yeah, probably,” Steve agrees. “Thank god for that. Do you want to stay here until they’re gone?”

And he does — of course he does — but…this isn’t his room. This isn’t his bed. And all too suddenly Koschei is starkly aware of that. “…Darling, don’t you think I am, perhaps, overstaying my welcome? As a guest? /Your/ guest?” 

“Koschei. If I wanted you to leave, I would’ve asked you to. I think we both know that by now,” he says softly. “You’re my best friend no matter what. And I want to help you. I want to be here for you.” 

“We’re a bit….pushing the boundaries of friendship, aren’t we?”

Steve shrugs a little and smiles at him. “I’ve made you cry on my dick. I really don’t think there are any more boundaries to push, no matter what we are now.” 

Koschei sputters a little bit, blushing, but Steve just laughs and soon he’s laughing with him, and for a wonderful moment everything is funny and silly and them. 

And then Bucky comes into the room, and he’s splattered with blood. 

Instantly, Koschei and Steve are on their feet and trying to get Bucky off his, checking him over for wounds and throwing questions at him and Koschei’s nightmare is flickering through his head and —, “Fellas, /fellas/, it ain’t my blood, I’m /fine/.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

“Oh.”

Bucky cracks a crooked grin at them and shuts the door softly, casually peeling off his bloodied outer layers and tossing them into the hamper. He sits on the bed in just his boxer briefs and Koschei is /definitely/ not staring at him, how could he even /think/ about sex after yesterday, and /gods/ Bucky has this thin layer of body hair dusted over his torso and disappearing past his waistline and he’s golden and rugged and Steve not-so-subtly nudges Koschei. Whoops. Both of them are smirking at him, though, so Koschei figures he’s forgiven for staring. 

“So,” Koschei starts, voice possibly a bit higher than it was a few moments ago, “whose…blood is it?” 

“Loki’s,” Bucky answers casually. Koschei flinches a bit at the name and something hardens in Bucky’s eyes. “I shoulda beat the shit out of him the first time he made you cry. I almost did, but told myself it wasn’t my place. Considering the events of last night, I made it my place.”

“Is…he…alive?” Steve carefully asks as he sits down next to Bucky on the bed. 

“/Yes/, Stevie, he’s alive. Didn’t even lose consciousness. Because, y’know, he’s a god. But I got a few good licks in and you best believe that smirk got wiped off his smug ass face.” 

“You didn’t need to do that,” Koschei murmurs, but he’s smiling a little because no one’s ever beaten anyone up for him before and it makes something warm and dangerous unspool behind his hearts. Bucky smiles back at him and shrugs. 

“Don’t need to do a lot of things, doll. But trust me — I really, /really/ wanted to.” He pats the space on the other side of him and Koschei slowly walks over, both Bucky and Steve watching him with these soft eyes and softer smiles, and when he sits down Bucky wraps one arm around his shoulders, one around Steve’s, and hugs both of them close. He presses a big, loud kiss on each of their foreheads and they laugh, holding onto him for balance. “Ain’t nothin’ I wouldn’t do for you punks,” Bucky tells them, all Brooklyn and warmth. “And don’t you forget it.” 

And that, well. That sits funny in Koschei’s gut, because that /definitely/ doesn’t sound like something you say to your boyfriend’s ex, but none of this is typical, is it? So maybe Koschei’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe he expects them to suddenly draw the line in the sand and remind him of the distance they should have. And maybe now, after this, it’ll all hurt that much more. 

But Koschei’s had a rough couple of days and Bucky smells like home and Steve, and Steve smells like home and Bucky, so sue him. He wants to hope.   
There’s another loud crack of thunder, and he knows it’s psychosomatic, but the air is suddenly much lighter and safer. His head feels emptier — no, not empty, /vacant/ save for his own thoughts, his own ideas, and his own feelings.

And Koschei relaxes.


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Koschei get closer and closer. Steve is okay with this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter! Please remember - this story is NOT the beginning and end of this series. There will be episodic sequels much like the first one that will develop the relationship and further the plot/tie up loose ends. This entire thing is basically a big prequel to set the stage and lend context. 
> 
> There are no warnings for this chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Koschei, does my ass look yours in these jeans?”

“What.”

“I /said/,” Bucky intones, smirking widely at him and thumbing the front belt-loops of his own jeans, but Koschei cuts in with a raised hand before he can repeat himself. 

“That didn’t make sense,” he tells him, fighting a smile. 

“Bullshit. That was golden. Steve? Tell him it was golden.” They both look towards Steve who sits on the table and reads the newspaper like he’s actually 100 years old. 

“I’m not gonna encourage my boyfriend to hit on someone else in front of me,” he tells them, but he’s grinning openly, “….but that was golden. Koschei, you should be wooed.”

With a triumphant “ha!” Bucky turns back to Koschei and grins victoriously. “Wooed, he said. /Wooed/.”

Koschei stares Bucky dead in the eye, and with all the seriousness he can muster, responds, “I’m not wooed. I’m Koschei.” And then he turns on his heel and walks proudly from the kitchen.

~

This…interesting dynamic of theirs has only gotten more interesting in the weeks since that morning. Koschei sleeps in his own room, Bucky and Steve in theirs, and they’re just /friends/, but Bucky’s started flirting with him in a way that’s almost too reminiscent of how Steve was before /they/ started dating and Steve seems, well, absolutely fine with this. More than fine, sometimes, if the look in his eyes is anything to go by. 

Koschei is /very/ familiar with that look. 

Of course, nothing has come of it. It remains unspoken, this “flirtation” of theirs, and it never goes beyond verbal innuendo and jokes, but gods, the way Bucky looks at him sometimes…

That can’t be nothing. 

Another key difference, of course, is that this time, Koschei flirts back as much as he can. Sometimes he brushes him off with a sassy remark, but more often than not, he finds himself in an impromptu game of Chicken with Bucky. He thought they were being subtle, but Natasha is doing that smirk of hers again whenever she sees them and even Bruce has this raised brow, “you’re not slick” look on his face. 

Oh well. 

It’s all in good fun, and besides — Koschei’s proud to say he’s not half bad at keeping up with a man known for dropping panties left and right in the 40’s. 

~

Sometimes, their flirting is more playfully competitive than anything too overt, pretending to be jealous of each other with an undercurrent of sex.

~

“Does it taste good, Bucky?” Koschei asks innocently without looking up from his book. Bucky stops kissing Steve, /ten feet away from him on the couch/, thank you very much, to look over at Koschei with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“Does what taste good?”

“My cock.” He nods towards Steve — or, more accurately, Steve’s mouth — and Steve gapes at him for a moment before collapsing into embarrassed giggles. Bucky, however, just smirks /wider/ at him, and angles himself towards him as he lewdly licks his lips. 

“It ain’t bad,” Bucky tells him, acting like he’s deliberating. “But — it’s pretty diluted this way. I should probably try it from the source to judge it accurately.” 

Koschei slowly looks up from his book, trying to pretend he’s /not/ blushing bright red, and he’s /not/ just a little bit wet and hard from hearing that, and Steve playfully thumps Bucky upside the head. 

Alright. That’d been a good response.

~

Other times, it’s more innocent — just little teasing remarks here and there. 

~

“Fancy meeting you here,” Bucky drawls, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen. It’s 3am, and Koschei was making himself a cup of hot chocolate during a bout of insomnia, but as soon as he hears Bucky he smiles to himself and automatically gets out a second cup. 

“It’s the kitchen, darling,” Koschei tells him. “Hardly surprising.” Bucky makes a noncommittal noise in response and saunters up behind him before cocking his hip against the counter besides him, arms crossed casually as Koschei fixes their drinks. 

“How’s it,” Bucky starts, “that even in this shitty kitchen lighting, you still look so damn pretty?” Koschei looks up at him sharply like he expects Bucky to start laughing, but instead he’s met with beautiful blue eyes so full of /feeling/ and sincerity and this /smile/ that Koschei can’t do anything but stare at him with an expression he knows is far too open. 

All he can do is dumbly hand Bucky his hot chocolate and croak out a weak, “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

The brilliant grin Bucky gives him in return is way too much to him. 

~

And sometimes, well — sometimes it’s nothing /but/ sexual, overtly and undeniably and /deliciously/. Sometimes, they cross that physical boundary /just/ a little.

~

He and Bucky spar together more often these days. Bucky’s a fantastic fighter, a bit more polished than Steve, and it keeps Koschei on his toes especially because even for him, Bucky doesn’t pull his punches or tone himself down. Koschei gives him the same respect, of course. They dance across the mats together in a rhythm tango of punches and blocks, kicks and ducks. Koschei wipes a spot of blood off the corner of his lip and smirks at Bucky, lunging forward to kicking him swiftly in the side. Bucky grunts and laughs, going low and knocking Koschei off his feet in one fell swoop.   
Koschei hits the ground with a thud and an “oof” and before he can even start to get up, Bucky’s on top of him and pinning his arms above his head. His hair falls loose from the ponytail he had it in, framing his face as he smiles dirty and heated down at Koschei and leans in to murmur in his ear as Koschei’s hearts hammer in his chest and he holds himself very, very still. “Silly thing,” Bucky purrs, just the /barest/ hint of lips brushing against Koschei’s earlobe, “you couldn’t top me if you tried.” 

That night, Koschei comes on his own fingers and chokes on Bucky’s name in the shower. 

Y’know. Typical post-sparring clean-up. 

~

Of /course/, the internet catches on. If Koschei thought things were bad when he and Steve started openly flirting, it’s /nothing/ compared to what it’s like when their fans think they’re getting /back together and with Bucky too!!!/ Blogs are buzzing with theories and snapshots of Koschei and Bucky laughing together in public, or him, Bucky, and Steve on their runs or joking around or even just having lunch. Reporters have started asking more and more intrusive questions, and while Steve and Koschei have become adept at dodging them, Bucky gets a little /too/ into it and gives them anything they want to know. A reporter asked him to flirt with Koschei on camera and his response was to grab him, tug him close, and huskily ask, “Wanna find out where Stevie learned all his tricks?” 

Koschei had just gaped at him as the cameras flashed. 

Still, everything just flows so /easily/. The only wildcard, the only thing that gives Koschei pause, is Steve. Steve, who doesn’t actually seem bothered by anything that’s happening, but he gets this /look/ about him sometimes. He looks…guilty. He looks sad. Koschei pulls Bucky aside one night to ask about it, but not even /he/ knows what the issue is. 

“Is it…,” Koschei struggles to speak about the unspoken “thing,” but Bucky spares him from having to try by shaking his head.

“It’s not. That I know. Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s anything obvious.” Koschei frowns in concern and looks down. 

“If we bring it up—,”

“—He’ll deny it, and never tell us.”

“But if we don’t, and we give him time—,”

“—maybe, just maybe, his stubborn ass—,”

“—will actually tell us without needing to be asked.” 

Koschei and Bucky look at each other, shrug in agreement, and move on. 

~

As time goes on, the three of them add a bit more affection to the mix. Lingering touches, longer hugs — nothing too much. Koschei knows he should probably put a stop to it, since this is /exactly/ how he got his hearts broken by Steve the first time, and he /knows/ Steve loves Bucky more, and he shouldn't let himself be a consolation prize, but god, it feels good to feel wanted like this again. 

In the present moment, Koschei is actually lying on top of Bucky on the couch. Bucky’s metal hand rubs his back slowly and absently as he flicks through the channels with his other, Koschei dozing off slowly on his chest. He’s a little fuzzy on how they ended up in this position but Bucky is warm and solid and very, very good at back rubs, so he’s not too worried about the details. Steve wanders in, pauses, and looks at them with a grin.   
“I’m…not sure who I’m supposed to be jealous of in this situation,” he tells them. 

Without opening his eyes, Koschei sleepily responds, “Probably me, as I am not your actual boyfriend.”

“Who you are using as a mattress.” 

“Mmmmmm.”

Bucky cuts in, “I dunno, Stevie. Koschei’s really warm and cuddly right now. You sure you don’t wanna be where I am?” Koschei can practically /hear/ Bucky’s wink. 

“Oh, I definitely do,” Steve agrees easily, plopping down on the armchair by the couch. “That’s why I’m at a loss. Am I jealous of Koschei for sleeping on my boyfriend, or jealous of my boyfriend for getting to have Koschei sleep on him?” 

“‘m not asleep,” Koschei slurs, half-asleep. 

“No, of course not, doll,” Bucky reassures him, scratching the back of his neck until Koschei hums something very nearly a purr and arches towards it, before slumping back down with a sigh. “God. Do you have any idea how hard it is to be a badass with you bein’ this cute on me?” 

“Welcome to my life,” Steve responds dryly. 

As much as Koschei would have loved to keep listening to Bucky and Steve fawning over him, easy as anything, he’s warm and comfy and — yeah, he admits it — quickly falls asleep. 

~

Guilt is definitely the word for what Steve looks like most of the time now. It twists Koschei’s hearts to see, especially because he /assumes/ it’s guilt over dumping him, and so it takes every ounce of his self-control not to sit Steve down and reassure him that he’s /fine/, everything’s /fine/, and he’s more than okay with how things turned out because he’s still Steve’s best friend, and now he has Bucky, too, but he knows better. He knows the minute he tries, Steve will laugh and deflect and pull away, because as good as he can be with communication, Steve has always had a complex about his /own/ feelings. 

So Koschei knows Steve needs to start the conversation. And he knows he has to pretend he doesn’t see the sad, definitely-guilty way Steve is looking at him, and /only/ him. 

He lets himself be distracted by Bucky’s words and smiles and, well, just about everything about him, and he lets himself be distracted by the happier, softer parts of Steve that he’s getting to see and receive again. The three of them fall together like puzzle pieces, even though they’re still unpainted and without a big picture or a title that Koschei can see. 

He just sees the edges of them all, and he sees the fit, and for the first time in a very long time, Koschei’s content to let them fall where they may.


	11. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The puzzle pieces fit together, just as they always have, and just as they always will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS THE FINAL CHAPTER! It went by WAY too quickly -- I probably shouldn't have gotten greedy and uploaded two chapters every week -- but I'm so happy to have this out in the world and ready to be enjoyed. This is NOT the end of Steve/Bucky/Koschei, this is just the end of this first story. Their relationship and lives together will be explored through nine episodic sequels, just like the first series, with more and more parallels between the first and this one as time goes on (but every story WILL be different and unique to the first, even if I plagiarize myself a bit!). I really hope you all enjoy this finale, and please let me know what you think! 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: tooth-rotting fluff and romance, with a healthy dose of smut.
> 
> (Note: the sequels will start up, once a week, on Mondays, TWO WEEKS from today. Half of them are written, half not so much, so I gotta get on that before I post them. See you in two weeks!)
> 
> Enjoy~.

It’s been a year since Bucky showed up. It’s been a year, and so much has changed, surprisingly not for the worst, that sometimes Koschei thinks he’s starting to think of years the way humans do. Years for him used to be quick blurs he quickly stopped caring to keep count of, but now he feels the months like months rather than minutes. His “relationship” with Bucky and Steve is a beautiful, slow-moving event like the birth of a star, shining and hot and brilliant. Even though Steve doesn’t flirt with him as much as Bucky does, Koschei just /knows/ it’s because Steve knows he doesn’t have to try like that anymore. He knows Koschei’s his, tells him so in those little smiles and gentle touches, as nonsexual as they are. Koschei hesitates to call anything the three of them do platonic, for obvious reasons. 

Speaking of which, Koschei is woken up one Saturday morning by a tentative knocking he instantly knows is Steve. Yawning to himself, Koschei drags himself out of bed and pads over to the door, opening it with an expectant, sleepy smile. Steve is, in fact, standing there with a surprisingly shy smile, face suspiciously red. 

“And to what do I owe this pleasure?” Koschei asks softly, voice crackly with sleep, still smiling.

“I want you and Bucky to have sex.” 

Silence.

With the same soft, crackly voice, and the same smile in place, Koschei blinks at him and responds, “What the sweet fuck did you just say?” 

Steve laughs a little and shuffles his feet, looking down at them for a moment before back up to meet Koschei’s eyes. “You heard me. The sexual tension between you two is /palpable/, you’ve obviously been inching towards it for a while, /I/ find it /way/ hotter than I probably should — even though I don’t think I should be there for it, this time —, and…y’know, that’s about it.”

“Steve.” Koschei huffs out a little laugh of his own and gently tugs Steve into his room, shutting the door for some privacy. “This is…a shock.”

“It shouldn’t be. Not sure if you’ve noticed, but he’s been flirting with you for quite some time.” 

Arsehole. 

“Arsehole, yes, I know that,” he rolls his eyes playfully. “But…this is a pretty big thing, is it not? You are giving your ex-boyfriend permission to fuck your current boyfriend, and you’re not even asking to /be there/.”

“Yeah,” Steve concedes, sitting on the edge of the bed, “but I’ve realized I love both of you way too much to actually be jealous. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Koschei. I have never /once/ pretended not to love you anymore.” Koschei blinks away the shocked look on his face and shakes his head slowly. 

“Right, right, that’s right. Just. Are you /sure?/ Are you really, properly sure?” He edges closer to Steve as he asks, like one would approach a skittish animal. Steve smirks up at him and stands, placing his hands on Koschei’s shoulder.

“Koschei. I am very, very sure. You know who else is sure? Bucky. Bucky, who is /eagerly/ waiting for me to finish this conversation with you, because he really, /really/ wants to come over and shove you into the bed and show you why he’s so dominant and damn /good/ that I don’t even /think/ about topping him.”

Koschei swallows thickly at that, looking wide-eyed up at Steve. “…Would he use the arm?” he asks quietly. Steve’s smirk turns downright filthy as he leans in and presses their foreheads together.

“Baby, he /insists/.”

Well. Koschei can’t argue with that.

~

Bucky’s stubble scratches hard and hot against Koschei’s skin as they lick and bite into each other’s mouths, Koschei’s hands tangled in Bucky’s hair as Bucky forces a thigh between his legs to grind him up against the wall. Koschei moans lowly at the feeling and Bucky growls back, grabbing both of Koschei’s wrists in his metal hand and pinning them above his head on the wall so he can suck bruises down the length of Koschei’s throat, rolling his hips in the steady rhythm. With a hiss, Koschei tips his head back and hikes a leg over Bucky’s hip, grinding back as his slick soaks the back of his boxers. 

It’s barely been thirty seconds since Bucky showed up at his door. 

In a blur of fallen clothing and fiery lust Koschei hasn’t felt intensity like in a /very/ long time, he soon finds himself in a position way too similar to his first time with Steve. Namely, Koschei flat on his back, hands gripping the headboard behind him, as Bucky fingerfucks him with three /wonderful/ metal fingers like their lives depend on it. The cold vibranium plates have just enough catch between them to add a whole new level of sensation and friction, and they’re hard and unyielding as they pry him open with every thrust. Koschei’s moans are high and breathy and probably /way/ too desperate, but god, it feels so /good/, and Bucky is growling these filthy words in his ear like he’s /paid/ to do it, and oh, he’s not going to last. He’s not going to last. He didn’t even know he said that out loud.

“Damn right you’re not,” Bucky hisses out, roughly biting the skin under his ear as he twists his fingers. “You’re gonna come on my fingers like the slut I /know/ you are for me and I’m gonna fuck my cock into you before you’re even done screaming my name and ream you until you come again.” 

So /this/ is the dominance Steve was talking about. 

Koschei nods frantically, his eyes wide as he stares up unseeingly and bucks his hips. “Okay,” he whispers out between moans, and the dazed, weak answer makes Bucky grin against his skin before returning to his task with double the passion, his hand moving just this side of too hard, too fast, too /much/ as he decorates Koschei’s neck and chest in marks. With a cry, Koschei arches up and clamps down /hard/ on Bucky’s fingers, shaking and trembling as he comes in a blinding snap of pleasure. 

Bucky’s true to his word. Koschei’s voice is still cracking on the last letter of Bucky’s name when he’s roughly flipped over onto his stomach, dragged a couple inches down the bed, and filled with the hot, hard, /thick/ length of Bucky’s cock. Oversensitivity makes him sob out a moan and half-heartedly writhe away but Bucky knows, /knows/ he wants it, because /fuck/, he wants it, so Bucky pins him down with that now-damp metal hand on the back of his neck and immediately starts up a harsh, punishing rhythm. Koschei knots his hands into the sheets as he presses his forehead into the bed, breathless “oh”’s leaving him with every thrust. Bucky’s free hand grips the back of his thigh and hikes it up the mattress so his cock slides in deeper, letting out a grunt of pleasure as he does. 

“Yeah, that’s right,” he bites out gruffly, nails cutting into the back of his thigh with every snap of his hips. “Yeah, yeah, /fuck/, doll, you take that cock, that’s right. Fucking /take it/.” 

“/Yes/, oh—,” Koschei huffs out, oversensitivity giving way to pure pleasure again as he ruts against the sheets, back arching with it. The fabric tears under his hands but he can’t loosen his grip, can’t stop, can’t do /anything/ but exactly what Bucky tells him. 

“Y’like that?” Bucky taunts him, pausing his hips to grind them in a slow circle that has Koschei keening into the pillows. 

“Please, please, /please/, please,” he moans, high again already as he cants backwards onto that amazing cock inside him. 

“Please what, baby? Hmm? Use your words.” Bucky leans down to kiss and bite the back of his neck, /finally/ speeding up again. “Y’want me to give it to you more? That what you’re asking?”

“Yes! Yes, gods, yes, give it to me, plea—ah!” Koschei can’t even finish his sentence when Bucky does exactly that, fucking him harder than he thinks he’s ever been fucked before, and before he knows it he’s coming again, sobbing more than yelling as he convulses beneath him. He’s distantly, barely aware of Bucky cursing and losing his rhythm as he frantically chases his own release, before his hips still and shake against Koschei’s as he spills into him. 

For a few moments, they stay exactly where they are, panting heavily. Koschei keeps his eyes closed and revels in Bucky’s weight on top of him, the feeling of his still-hard cock stretching him open. All too soon, Bucky kisses the back of his neck, tender and soft, and pulls out to flop gracelessly besides him. It’s a miracle Koschei manages to inch the couple of centimeters between them to do his own flopping onto Bucky’s chest, making him grunt out a breathless laugh and hug him close. Bucky presses several kisses to the top of his head, rubbing his back and holding him like he’s precious. 

They’re silent for a while, letting their heart rates return from the stratosphere, before Koschei lightly clears his throat to break it. “I think,” he starts, voice hoarse like he’s been screaming for hours — which is not inaccurate, “ you gave me asthma.” 

Bucky laughs loudly, shaking under him, before he tips Koschei’s head up to kiss him softly. He’s grinning cheekily when he pulls back. 

“Funny. Steve said the same thing.”

~

The next morning, Steve knocks on the door even though they actually fucked in /his/ bedroom (Steve graciously offered to sleep in Koschei’s room, and Koschei still isn’t sure /why/ this was their preferred arrangement, but he digresses), and Bucky grumbles out a half-asleep “c’min,” that’s mostly muffled by the back of Koschei’s neck since they’re spooned together. Koschei blearily opens his eyes to see Steve covering his with his hands, blindly shutting the door behind him. Bucky lifts his head, sees what Steve is doing, laughs a little at him, and flops back down. Koschei relates. 

“Steve,” Koschei mumbles, only one eye open now, “you have had sex with /both/ of us. You can open your eyes.” 

“…Oh, yeah.”

The three of them laugh and Koschei and Bucky slowly untangle themselves, sitting up and stretching. Now that he’s “allowed” to, Steve stares openly at them, eyes raking over the marks and scratches and bruises on their (mostly Koschei’s) bodies. “Have…fun?” he asks, smiling at them as he sits on the bed. He also looks like he just woke up — just in his pajama pants, hair still half-matted from the pillows, face a little puffy. It’s adorable. 

“Damn right we did,” Bucky retorts, leering at Koschei with a grin and pressing a kiss to his temple. “You weren’t kidding about how submissive he is.”

Koschei looks up at Steve sharply, who blanches, and narrows his eyes. “/What did you tell him/?” he demands, voice high with incredulity. 

Steve holds his hands up innocently. “Nothing! Well,” he amends, mostly because of the look Koschei gives him, “nothing /bad/. I was just — just, y’know. Informing him. Of your, uh. Your…preferences. So he could act accordingly.”

“Act accordingly?” Bucky repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Baby, you know this shit ain’t scripted, right?” 

“/Yes/, Buck, I know that. I couldn’t script this if I tried. Koschei looks like you mauled him.”

“I did. Consensually and thoroughly. Right, Koschei?”

“Yeah…,” Koschei admits, a bit too dreamily, before snapping himself out of it to faux-glare at Steve. “I can’t believe you used my kinks to pimp me out to your boyfriend.”

“Didn’t seem to be complaining last night,” Steve grumbles.

“/What/?”

“I said you look beautiful in the morning light and I’m so happy you two enjoyed your time together.”

“Uh huh.” 

~ 

As the three of them wake up more, an hour or so passes in relative silence. Bucky and Koschei take turns in the shower (they both knew they wouldn’t have the self-control to shower together) while Steve throws on a sweatshirt and makes the three of them a simple breakfast to eat in bed. When they’re done, they stare at one another, waiting to see who will be the one to start the conversation they so painfully need to have.

Of course, it’s Koschei.

“So,” he starts lamely, smiling at the two of them, “was this…a one-off, or—,”

“No,” Bucky firmly responds, before backtracking a little. “Unless you want it to be, which is fine.”

“Really fine, because we understand this might make you uncomfortable,” Steve adds.

“But this happened because Stevie and I have been talking, a /lot/, and of course he still loves you as much as ever, and I’ve started developing feelings for you, and it’s the 21st century, and we’d…really, really like you to join our relationship. As an equal member.”

“…Really?” Koschei questions, his smile faltering out of shock alone. Sure, he’s seen the signs of this coming, but to actually have it /confirmed/ is something else. But oh, to be with Steve again. To be with /Bucky/. To get /both of them/. “I’d be…with both of you?”

Steve nods with a grin, eyes all soft and hopeful. “Yeah, doll. You’d be with both of us, we’d be with each other.”

“Since you and Steve have a head start with each other, and so do he and I,” Bucky explains, “we were thinking you and I work on developing our own relationship. We’d both still be with Steve, of course, but we’d put a little more time in to each other for a while. We’d all stay in the same room and do things together as a…triple? Thriple? Is that a thing? Anyways. But we’d step out solo and have a lot of quality time together.” 

“And this…is really what the two of you want?” Koschei can’t help but question it. He wants this, of /course/ he does, but he also doesn’t want to be set up for heartbreak again. “Steve, darling, I know you love Bucky more—,” all three of them flinch at that, and Steve briefly averts his eyes, “—so I want to make /very/ sure that you want—,”

“I do,” Steve tells him. “I do, baby, I really, /really/ do. I love you so much, and I’ve /missed/ you so much, and I-I never wanted to choose between you two in the first place.”

But it hadn’t been a choice, Koschei thinks. He hadn’t even been a choice. Something must show on his face because Steve moves closer to him and cups his cheeks, pressing their foreheads together. “I mean it. I swear on everything I am I mean every word. I’ve never lied —,” he pauses just enough for Koschei to frown before continuing like nothing happened, “and I love you so much. Nothing would make me happier than getting to be with both of you, loving both of you, watching you two fall in love with each other…it’s all I want, Koschei.”

Fuck. How the hell can Koschei say no to that? Especially when it’s all he wants too? He wants it desperately and viciously and with every fiber of his being. “Well then,” he says shakily, laughing a little as he takes Steve’s hands in his own and looks between the two of them and their beautiful, hopeful faces, “I suppose that’s that.” The pair light up like Christmas trees and beam around happy, incredulous laughter, crowding around Koschei to hug him tightly and kiss every part of him until he’s joining in.

“So, what now?” Koschei asks when they’ve sobered a bit, encased as he still is between them. 

Bucky grins at him, full of light and life and so much feeling, in such a stark difference to the man he was a year ago, and responds surely and proudly,  
“Well, I’m guessin’ I should take you on a date.”

With a laugh, Koschei nods in agreement, pressing a soft kiss to Bucky’s jaw. He looks at the two of them, these beautiful, wonderful men who understand him like no one else ever has, who make him feel so whole and special and amazing, and he feels himself swell with affection that nearly overwhelms him. 

His hearts are so full, /so/ full, and for the first time Koschei thinks he understands why he was given two of them. 

~FIN~


End file.
